Flight
by valleyforge
Summary: A Bialar Crais adventure. John, Aeryn and the crew reluctantly agree to help Talyn search for his missing captain.
1. Flight Part 1

FLIGHT: Part 1  
  
Flight has previously been posted at Redbeard's under my other handle, Cinder.  
  
Setting: The story takes place just before Eat Me and has spoilers from the first two seasons.  
  
Disclaimer: Farscape belongs to the Jim Henson Company, Hallmark Entertainment, Nine Network Australia and the Sci-fi Channel.  
  
Notes: Thank you to my beta readers Jilacosa and DJ3cats.  
  
I appreciate any feedback. Thanks for reading!  
  
* * *  
  
"What the frell is it doing?" D'Argo asked, monitoring the distant object from the command control panel.  
  
Still barely visible at maximum magnification, an unidentified shape darted back and forth. It hovered for a microt, then surged forward and stopped dead in space. Although erratic, its distinct course changes and rapid accelerations suggested a power source rather than an anomaly or debris. Scans confirmed the presence of a nongaseous mass somewhat smaller than Moya.  
  
"Are we close enough to establish contact?" Aeryn asked.  
  
"No, we have not been able to open communications," Pilot answered. "Moya wants to move closer."  
  
"Whoa! Just hold your horses there," John yelled from in front of the viewing port. "This thing has definitely got some sort of bug up its butt." He wheeled to face Aeryn at the guidance station. "What do you make of that?"  
  
She frowned and shook her head.  
  
"Perhaps we should just leave," D'Argo suggested, then mumbled as an afterthought, "while we still can."  
  
The entity's movements resembled a caged scent hound as it spurted in one direction, jerked to a standstill, pivoted, paused, and then accelerated the opposite way. If manned, the vessel's crew did not give any indication that they were aware of the Leviathan's presence.  
  
"Moya wishes to approach—"  
  
"No!" the three shouted in unison.  
  
"Until we know what we are dealing with," Aeryn said, "it might be best to keep our distance."  
  
"A contagion of some sort?" D'Argo asked.  
  
John flexed a halfhearted grin. "Peacekeepers hitting the raslak?"  
  
Pilot's tone darkened reflecting Moya's growing anxiety. "Moya has seen this type of behavior before. Though not common, it has been observed in Leviathans that have lost their, well—"  
  
"For frell sake, spit it out," D'Argo demanded. "Lost their what?"  
  
Pilot's answer was slow in coming. "Stability," he finally said.  
  
John grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. "You mean like equilibrium? Something we can clear up with a few hundred gallons of ear drops?"  
  
"Well no, not exactly," Pilot answered.  
  
D'Argo's fingers stabbed the panel in a futile attempt to pull up a schematic of the object. "Then what type of stability are we talking about?" he asked, growing increasingly irritated. "Loss of directional control? Gravitational stabilizers? What?"  
  
"Loss of sanity," Pilot said. "I am afraid there is more. Moya is extremely worried. She is concerned that it might be, that it could be…"  
  
Although brief, the ensuing silenced lasted long enough for them all to visualize the possibilities. D'Argo activated the comm and shouted for the remainder of the crew to report to command.  
  
Talyn?" Aeryn asked under her breath, her eyes anxiously fixed on John.  
  
"Shit," he spat, his face instantly flushed with anger. "That's just great." He paced half the length of command before turning to scorch her with a blistering glare. "And where do we think he might have picked that up? Damn! It's bad enough that lunatic's out there on the loose, now the scumbag's contagious."  
  
Aeryn's eyes narrowed into dark slits. She hastily closed the gap between them until a mere henta separated her face from his. "We don't know that's Talyn, John. We don't know that Crais has anything to do with it. So before you start assigning blame, maybe, just maybe—"  
  
"Excuse me," D'Argo interrupted loudly.  
  
"Blame?" John laughed. "Who would possibly be to blame for giving a Leviathan loaded to the nuts with firepower to a madman?"  
  
"People!" D'Argo yelled.  
  
"What!" they both shouted.  
  
At that instant Chiana rushed through the doorway, halting abruptly in the middle of command. She stared out the viewing port, her head dipped questioningly to one side. "What's Talyn doing here?" she asked.  
  
"Oh frell," muttered John.  
  
Moya had instinctively hailed Talyn the microt she suspected the distraught vessel might be her son. He had responded instantly. Confused and exhausted, the young hybrid's sleek frame rested alongside her now, brushing her lightly for comfort like a boat bobbing in a gentle wake. There were no visible wounds on him and sensors did not register any internal damage. Scans failed to locate foreign bodies on board or any earlier presence of invasion or attack. Weapons, propulsion, tactical control, every system checked out fully functional and command ready, yet Talyn was far from being operational.  
  
Moya refused to share any information until Talyn's condition stabilized. Half an arn after his arrival, Pilot finally began to explain.  
  
"It seems there has been a falling out between Talyn and Captain Crais."  
  
"Oh, do tell," John said smugly, grinning stupidly at an unusually quiet Aeryn. "I say we go over there and lock that freller's ass up before he does anymore damage."  
  
"But Commander Crichton," Pilot said, "Moya wants you to—"  
  
"You tell Moya not to worry. We're going to rid her son of that parasite once and for all. Are you with me D'Argo?"  
  
"I'm with you," the Luxon replied robustly.  
  
"Stark? Pip? Ry—"  
  
"Commander Crichton!" Pilot shouted. "Moya would like you to shut up!"  
  
Every eyebrow in the room shot toward the ceiling.  
  
"Captain Crais was not the problem. Talyn was entirely to blame."  
  
"Pilot, are you sure?" Aeryn asked. "Talyn is only a child."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. A baby," said Chiana.  
  
"A big, big baby," said Jool, gazing wide-eyed out the port.  
  
"Apparently Talyn wanted to incinerate an asteroid field," Pilot continued. "In the past Captain Crais had let Talyn destroy asteroids for target practice and exercise. It was their way of having fun."  
  
"That sounds just like our good ol' Captain Crunch," John blurted.  
  
Aeryn gave him a sour look. "Go on, Pilot."  
  
"However, this particular time Captain Crais felt it might be too dangerous. Six arns earlier they had detected a hetch signature possibly from a Peacekeeper vessel. He was concerned that the blasts and the resulting debris might draw unnecessary attention to them. Talyn disagreed. He became furious with Crais for ordering him to power down his weapons."  
  
"Yotz," snorted Rygel. "That is all this whole commotion is about? You interrupted my lunch over a disagreement about blowing up some rocks? "  
  
"No, it is Captain Crais," Pilot continued to explain. "He is missing. Talyn is unable to locate him."  
  
John let out a boisterous whoop and clapped his hands together.  
  
D'Argo's confused expression was not the only one in the room. "And that's a problem?" he asked.  
  
"Hey, ask Talyn if he checked in the john," John said with a hearty laugh. The others all looked at him very curiously. He laughed again realizing they probably thought the translator microbes had screwed this one up big time. "Oh, ah . . . the john. On Earth that's what we call a toilet."  
  
"Why the hezmana would your parents name you Toilet?" D'Argo asked.  
  
"No, let me explain here. You see it's the john, not, John. See the difference?" His smile evaporated. He folded his arms and cleared his throat. "Missing huh? How did that happen, Pilot?"  
  
"Captain Crais has left Talyn."  
  
"Why would he leave?" Aeryn asked.  
  
Pilot did not answer immediately. Moya was having great difficulty sharing the remainder of the details. Her son had behaved quite badly and what the crew was about to hear might cloud their feelings toward him. Still, Crais had stolen him from them; perhaps the expeacekeeper had gotten exactly what he deserved.  
  
"Pilot?" Aeryn asked firmly.  
  
"Talyn has no idea of Captain Crais's whereabouts. His remorse for his actions and his concern for his friend are causing him great distress. Apparently Crais removed the transponder and escaped aboard the transport pod almost a weeken ago. Without the transponder Talyn has been completely unable to sense or track him. To make matters worse, Talyn has discovered there definitely is a Peacekeeper marauder patrolling this sector. He narrowly avoided detection in his diminished condition."  
  
Stark's eye narrowed. "Escaped?"  
  
Pilot nodded slightly. "Yes, it seems that Talyn, well . . . hurt him."  
  
"The poor baby," John muttered under his breath to D'Argo.  
  
"We're not talking hurt feelings here, are we Pilot?" Aeryn asked.  
  
"No, I am afraid not." Pilot shared Moya's embarrassment. He wished he did not have to tell them the rest. Yet, Moya would need the entire crew's help if Talyn was ever going to find his Captain. Talyn was simply too young and inexperienced to operate without him.  
  
"Out with it, already," snorted Rygel.  
  
"Perhaps you should all just watch," said Pilot.  
  
Crais's appearance on the replay screen instantly commanded the crew's undivided attention. His long black hair, always so carefully groomed, spiraled in damp unruly tendrils around his face and shoulders. His dark skin glistened with perspiration. The distinct outline of his ubiquitous goatee had faded into several days' growth of dark stubble. Instead of his standard attire, a smartly fitted black tunic, he wore a loose sleeveless white shirt, its appearance suggesting he had slept in it for a weeken.  
  
"Talyn, please listen to me." His chest heaved, each raspy breath an effort. "You must adjust the climate regulator to lower the temperature. I cannot continue under these conditions." He lightly stroked the ship's hull and waited, his face etched deeply with apprehension. "Talyn?" He clenched his teeth at the responding beeps and whistles. "No, you must not use your weapons." His voice was strained, yet remained firm. "As I have already explained, we cannot, we must not risk—"  
  
Beep. Beep. Beep. A shrill, earsplitting whistle accompanied the flashes of light progressing sequentially across the control panel.  
  
Crais lost control of his temper. "Absolutely not!" he shouted, smacking the panel with his fist. "I absolutely forbid it! Now lower the frelling temperature in here. Do you hear me?"  
  
It remained eerily silent.  
  
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply then slowly releasing each breath until his anger subsided. He cautiously extended his hand to the Leviathan's hull and rubbed the rough covering in slow caressing strokes. As the microts passed without response he broadened the movements and continued the massage gently using both hands. He stopped suddenly, eyes wide. "Talyn, do not do this. Leave the gravitational stabilizer settings exactly as they are. Talyn!" Crais set his jaw. "I order you to cease this—"  
  
A sudden violent pitch of the ship slammed Crais off the command wall, landing him in an undignified heap on the floor. Before he could regain his feet, Talyn quickly executed a sharp 360-degree roll in the opposite direction. The maneuver hurtled Crais from floor to ceiling, banged him off the wall, and then dumped him back onto the floor. The ship continued to twist and spin, pounding Crais from one side of the hull to the other as command rained debris and DRDs. When Talyn finally stopped and reinstated the normal gravitation levels, Crais dropped unconscious to the floor where he remained sprawled in a limp pile.  
  
The transmission ended.  
  
"Holy shit," muttered John.  
  
"So you see why Moya is so upset about this," Pilot said. "It appears that Captain Crais really was trying to do what was best for young Talyn."  
  
"Are we certain that Crais survived the attack?" Aeryn asked.  
  
"Yes, it was with great difficulty, but he managed to get to the transport pod and leave."  
  
John shook his head in disbelief. "Oh man, I bet that smarts."  
  
D'Argo nodded, grinning.  
  
Stark appeared confused. "Why didn't Talyn just follow Crais if he was so worried about him?"  
  
"Because he was embarrassed," Pilot answered.  
  
John chuckled. "Embarrassed? Damn, Pilot, you tell the little guy that we're mighty proud of him."  
  
"No, we are not!" Aeryn shouted.  
  
"We're not?" asked D'Argo.  
  
"What is the matter with you two? Look out there and tell me what the frell you see?  
  
"D'Argo looked, shrugged. "Talyn?"  
  
"That's right, it's Talyn," Chiana chirped.  
  
Stark sidled up to Aeryn, his expression grave. He nodded slowly. "Yes, you are quite right. I'm afraid you are absolutely right."  
  
"Okay, I give up," said John. "Just what the hell are you so right about, Aeryn?"  
  
"He's nearly as big as Moya, John. He's covered with enough weaponry to knock out a planet. He almost killed the one person he truly cares about and he's so unstable he can barely fly." Aeryn paused a microt, folding her arms across her chest, an eyebrow arched. "Do you see a problem with this picture?"  
  
"Of course not," huffed Rygel. "Not so long as we don't antagonize him. It would also appear we have one less Peacekeeper to contend with."  
  
"That Peacekeeper saved your butt, or whatever you wish to call that smelly thing," she reminded him caustically.  
  
"Crais? Is that the one we don't particularly like?" asked Jool.  
  
"Oh shut up," Chiana snapped.  
  
"Both of you shut up," Aeryn snarled.  
  
John stepped in quickly to separate the women. "I don't care what you say, Aeryn. I'm certain Crais brought this upon himself. Besides, Talyn has calmed down now. Once a couple of us go over and reassure him he'll forget all about Bialar Crais."  
  
"I would not try that if I were you," warned Pilot. "Despite Moya's insistence to the contrary, Talyn has indicated he will shoot the first one of you who tries to come on board."  
  
"Are we starting to see the problem now?" Stark asked.  
  
John grunted and exchanged a dismal glance with D'Argo.  
  
"You are wrong about Captain Crais," Pilot said with resolve. "Even Moya, who has every reason to despise him, believes that Talyn was to blame in this instance. That is why she intends to help Talyn search for him."  
  
"Ah Jeez, Pilot, talk to her," John whined. "This is insane. Trust me on this one. We don't want this cockroach back."  
  
"Moya has risked her life repeatedly for all of you," Pilot reminded them.  
  
Aeryn gripped John's arm and forced him back into the corner with D'Argo following close behind.  
  
"Use your head," she whispered. "We have no choice but to help Talyn search for Crais. That doesn't mean we actually have to find him. We only have to look as though we're trying. For all we know he could be dead. It is hard telling how serious his injuries were. He could not starburst and had no means of defending himself against a Marauder."  
  
D'Argo gave a sly smile. "And just think what Talyn can do for us once we've earned his gratitude."  
  
"Ah yes," said John, " just look what he did for Crais."  
  
Aeryn's expression acknowledged that concern.  
  
"Do we tell the others?" D'Argo asked.  
  
John nodded. "Sparky'll go for it. So will Stark."  
  
"Chiana too," D'Argo agreed. "But Jool—"  
  
"We don't tell," Aeryn said firmly.  
  
"Agreed," said the men.  
  
  
  
End part 1 


	2. Flight Part 2

FLIGHT: Part 2  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Despite the excruciating pain from the beating he had taken, a greater wound had been inflicted upon Bialar Crais, far deeper than the cuts and bruises covering his body. He and Talyn had been friends. They had shared thoughts, dreams, even some of their innermost secrets. Yet, just as he had lost Tauvo, he had surely lost Talyn. Who did he have left to call friend? Crais's thoughts loomed darker than the space through which he piloted the transport pod. Perhaps friendship was not a comfort he was ever meant to enjoy.  
  
Of one thing Crais was certain; there was a Peacekeeper ship in the sector. He had been correct in not letting Talyn draw attention to them by exercising his firepower, although, in retrospect, he would have at least stood a chance against them. In all likelihood, he and Talyn would have easily prevailed against a single Prowler, perhaps several. Instead, he had received the beating of his life, unable to raise so much as a finger in his defense.  
  
Besides the few personal effects he had managed to collect from to his quarters after regaining consciousness, his supplies consisted of a handful of food cubes, a liter of water, a scant number of trading credits and one pulse rifle. Yet, he knew he was lucky. Talyn could have finished him off in a microt. The Leviathan had not fired at him and made no effort to stop him from taking the pod. Had Talyn reconsidered his childish tantrum? Was he asking for forgiveness? Crais had no intention of ever going back to find out.  
  
The pod's range and his lack of provisions limited his choice of destinations to three planets. He bypassed the first two, both heavy commerce planets, opting instead for Thasia, the most distant and least populated. Scans failed to detect any industrial sites or military bases, lessening the chance of a run in with Peacekeepers. Despite his desperate need for supplies, he knew he would not survive a conflict of any kind. What he needed most was time to heal.  
  
Crais landed the pod several metras away from the populous, which scans registered as Sebacean. Instruments had failed to register any attempt at communication from the surface during his descent, another good sign.  
  
The microt the landing bay door dropped, a rush of cool fresh air, scented sweet with plant life flooded the pod. Crais limped down the ramp and with a loud groan lowered himself to a seat on the ground. He marveled at the planet's beauty, a crystalline blue atmosphere contrasting a flora carpet comprised of a thousand shades of green. Flat and wooded, separated by unobtrusive rolling hills, it was land that could easily be farmed. A wry smile escaped him at the thought.  
  
Seated there he ate the last of the food cubes, washing them down with most of the water. Convinced he was alone and safe, he allowed himself to lie back and rest his eyes for a few microts before beginning the trek into the village. He woke several arms later.  
  
After using the remaining water to wash, he dressed in a plain black sweater and trousers. Upon examination, his wounds appeared to be mainly cuts, scrapes, and bruises. As best as he could tell, nothing was broken, although he felt like he had tangled with a Palmonian meat hound. He examined a purplish bruise and cut above his left eye, the most obvious injury, and was grateful that his full mane of dark curly hair covered the largest part of it. He scowled at the tight black beard that had filled in the outline of his goatee. Without a razor there was nothing to be done about it. Perhaps it was vanity, yet despite his situation, he was still careful about his appearance.  
  
When he arrived at the village of Cullahn close to an arn later, he sorely wished he had landed the pod closer. A dozen wooden buildings surrounded a courtyard filled with tables and benches, shaded by yellow peramilla trees. Many of the shops with open storefronts sold food and beverages to the noisy throng of people gathered outside at the tables. Crais's dark complexion and dress, in sharp contrast to the white loose-fitting robes of the fairskinned locals, made him look quite out of place, yet few seemed to take notice.  
  
The smells emanating from the shops caused his mouth to water. He approached a booth selling flat, roasted biscuits and with a slight nod extended a credit across to its elderly proprietor. The old woman closed her wrinkled hand over his and pushed it back. She wrapped a biscuit in a sheath of brown paper and offered it across the counter to him.  
  
He accepted it, again extending the credit.  
  
The old woman raised her hands and motioned it away.  
  
"It is her gift," a voice behind him said.  
  
Crais turned to see an attractive young woman with a child rested on her hip standing behind him.  
  
"Madga's husband has passed and now the village cares for her needs. The biscuits are her gift in return."  
  
Crais nodded. "A most admirable arrangement and most fortunate for me." He forced a tight-lipped smile.  
  
"I am Abella," she said, offering a far more genuine smile in response. She bounced the little girl, who was probably three or four cycles, once on her hip, causing the child to giggle uncontrollably. "And this is Vizbeth." Still laughing, the child buried her face in the woman's waist length mahogany-colored hair at the mention of her name.  
  
He pulled his shoulders back to stand as straight as his stiffened muscles would allow. "I am Bialar Crais. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."  
  
Abella stepped up to the counter and reached across to accept two biscuits from the old woman.  
  
"Thank you Madga," she said, and then turned back to Crais. "Would you care to join us at a table?"  
  
"It would be a pleasure," he said, motioning her to lead the way. He began to notice the villagers' eyes on him now, saw them lean to whisper as they passed.  
  
Abella chose a small, unoccupied table with two short benches. If she noticed how carefully Crais lowered himself onto the bench, she did not mention it. The child slipped beneath the table to play.  
  
Without further conversation, Crais finished his biscuit in several large bites, then glanced up, embarrassed to see her watching him. Abella instantly extended her hand, offering her biscuits to him.  
  
"Oh, no . . . no," he said awkwardly. "I could not."  
  
She extended her hand a bit further and said softly, " Go ahead, there are more. We can have all we want."  
  
He smiled slightly and took them.  
  
"Men have such appetites," Abella said for his benefit. "Visiting?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, temporarily." Crais broke one of the biscuits into smaller pieces and made an effort to remember to chew them this time. "I was headed for Xentavar when I ran into a bit of mechanical trouble."  
  
"Looks like maybe it ran into you." She reached across and lightly brushed his hair from his forehead.  
  
He touched the bruise, gave a small shrug and positioned his hair back over the wound. "Nothing really, an accident." He started to his feet. "I really should be going though. Thank you. I have enjoyed our visit"  
  
"I apologize," she said simply. "Please . . . do not go."  
  
After a microt's hesitation he eased back onto the bench, mainly because his legs could barely sustain him.  
  
"Are you in need of provisions?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, actually that is why I am here. My supplies are somewhat depleted. If you could tell me who to contact I would be most grateful."  
  
Vizbeth crawled out from beneath the table and pulled herself onto the bench to stand alongside Crais. She tucked her chin down against her chest, silently gazing up at him with bright, curious eyes through thick dark lashes. He looked a bit uncomfortable with Vizbeth's attention, making Abella wonder if he already knew.  
  
"I can help you," she said while continuing to watch his reaction to her child closely. "But your credits will do you little good here. Thasia is primarily a barter society."  
  
Crais nodded. "I see."  
  
"Can you work?"  
  
He looked offended by the question.  
  
"What I meant was, what is your trade?" This time she waited for his response.  
  
"I am a pilot," Crais answered.  
  
The crowd in the courtyard had thinned and was rapidly beginning to disperse. Abella glanced up, and then stood.  
  
"Vizbeth!"  
  
The child jumped off the bench and ran to her mother's side as Crais slowly made it to his feet. Abella took Vizbeth's hand and began to walk away. After taking a few steps she hesitated and turned back to Crais. "Do you have lodging?"  
  
Crais nodded. "Yes, my vessel is an arn's walk from here."  
  
"An arn?" she said with a harsh laugh.  
  
"Yes," he repeated curtly, "an arn."  
  
"It will be blackout in half that time." She motioned toward the sky, which was swiftly losing its brilliant blue luster.  
  
"I will manage."  
  
"Where is your illumination?" she asked.  
  
His expression was puzzled.  
  
"Your light?" she asked again. "How will you see where you are going?"  
  
Crais took a heavy breath and pushed it out sharply. "Madam, I am not bothered  
  
by a little darkness. But, nonetheless, I do thank you for your concern."  
  
She studied him carefully before stepping closer. "Bialar Crais, you understand there are no moons here. Once the sun drops below the horizon, which is going to be quite soon, you will not be able to see your own feet."  
  
His dark eyes shifted up toward the murky sky.  
  
"Of course, a pilot such as yourself can probably navigate his way home in a total blackout, hmm?"  
  
Storefronts continued to clatter shut in rapid succession. Abella gripped Vizbeth's hand while backing away, still keeping her eyes trained on Crais. "You had better have a coat Bialar Crais because it gets very, very cold. It stays dark here for fifteen arns at a time."  
  
He had a bad feeling about this. Other than Abella and Vizbeth who had since turned and were hurrying away, there was not a single person left in sight. A menacing gray haze had replaced every trace of blue sky.  
  
"Do you know of lodging?" he called after her.  
  
Without looking back she waved him to follow.  
  
* * *  
  
Her home sat on the village's outmost ring of buildings, closest to the woodlands, two rooms and an outside toilet, wood heat and oil lamps, not much by any standard. Despite its austere furnishings Crais was grateful for the shelter it provided. The Thasian nightfall had quickly shrouded the village, swallowing every trace of light and bringing with it a bone- numbing chill.  
  
He stoked the fire while she prepared a meal that appeared to be mostly for his benefit. Neither she nor Vizbeth ate more than a few bites. He finished two platefuls of dried, seasoned trelkez meat steamed with sliced allium and could not remember when he had eaten anything as good. As he ate, Crais surveyed the cabin, taking note that not a single masculine possession was anywhere to be seen. Abella had shelter, food and the other bare necessities, but very little else. She was also quite alone.  
  
They had spoken only briefly since arriving at the cabin. After finishing his meal, Crais watched as she heated a pan of water on the cook stove, and then led Vizbeth behind a curtain where she washed and dressed the child for bed. After gifting Crais with a final shy smile Vizbeth curled up on her mat and closed her eyes. Her mother gently wrapped a blanket around her and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead.  
  
Abella returned to the stove and heated a second pan of water, which she placed on the table next to Crais. Returning to the cupboard, she removed several rags, a small jar, and a large bottle filled with dark green liquid. After dunking one of the rags in the water, she wrung it out and sprinkled it freely with the green pungent smelling fluid.  
  
She reached to brush his hair away from his forehead. "I will tend your wounds now," she said.  
  
Crais snapped his head back and with a short nervous laugh said, "My wounds are . . . my wound is fine. I appreciate your concern, but this is not necessary."  
  
"You have not looked at it lately, have you?"  
  
She touched his forehead before he could pull away.  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
"It is red and sore. I doubt that you have properly treated it."  
  
Crais kept his hand cupped over the cut in case she tried that again. "Of course I have," he said, annoyed.  
  
She gave him an equally stern look and attempted to pull his hand away. Crais refused to budge and glared back.  
  
Abella leaned in close, her tone and words equally curt. "It is infected, now move your hand."  
  
"Madam," he replied tersely, "let us get one thing straight. You have but one child in this cabin and she is sleeping on that mat."  
  
She nodded with a scant grin as Crais reluctantly permitted her to draw his hand away. "Men make such poor patients."  
  
He allowed her to clean and treat the cut on his forehead, and then removed his sweater so she could examine a tender area across his back. She sucked a breath sharply through her teeth seeing a huge scrape below his right shoulder, bruised nearly black, yet it was an older, circular puncture wound at the base of his neck that intrigued her.  
  
"Who did this to you?" she asked.  
  
"I told you already. I had an accident."  
  
She chuckled and wagged her head. "I have never heard of getting half beaten to death as an accident before."  
  
Crais clenched his teeth and grunted as she wiped the scrape with the stinging green antiseptic. Abella paused for a microt, seemingly deep in thought. "You know, Bialar, if I were you, I would just say that I crashed. Yes, that is much more convincing than saying you had an accident. Although that does not say much for your piloting skills, does it? Maybe you just ought to say you are a merchant instead. Hmm?"  
  
Crais turned and shot her a curious look. She gripped his shoulders and faced him forward again.  
  
"Was the other fellow much bigger?" she asked.  
  
Crais nearly smiled, but caught himself. She greatly reminded him of someone else. Surely the two had their similarities. One moment Abella would taunt him to a point where he wanted to strangle her, while the next her smile and wit would completely engage him. She had soft, violet-colored eyes, made all the more beautiful by pale porcelain skin and luscious dark hair. Shorter and less muscled, she did not possess the warrior's body of Aeryn Sun, yet Abella carried herself with every bit the same confidence, almost defiance, as Officer Sun had.  
  
"You are a very direct person, Abella," Crais said. "I admire that trait."  
  
"Uh huh." She began to carefully massage the ointment into his shoulders.  
  
"So what is it you want from me?" Crais asked bluntly.  
  
She pulled in a deep breath. "Are you really a pilot?"  
  
"I am."  
  
"And you have a vessel?"  
  
"I do."  
  
Her hands left his shoulders and began finger combing his hair in long slow strokes. "You have such lovely hair," she said.  
  
"Out with it, Abella," he said sharply, although on the inside he was tingling with enjoyment at her touch.  
  
"Passage. I need passage for myself and Vizbeth."  
  
"Impossible," he replied without a microt's hesitation. "Even if I could, would you want to run the risk of an accident like this happing to you or your daughter?"  
  
"You seem like an intelligent man Bialar Crais. I'd think you would learn from your accidents to avoid them in the future."  
  
Crais stood and faced her. "You do not know what you are asking. You have a beautiful child, a home, and enough food to eat. Be satisfied with that, Abella. You do not know me or what you would be getting into."  
  
She reached to touch his face, but he gripped her wrist and brought her hand down.  
  
"I know that you are alone," she said, "and in trouble. You need my help and I need yours."  
  
Crais shook his head. "No. It is out of the question."  
  
"You do not understand what it is like for us here," she whispered to him desperately.  
  
His eyes took in the cabin then lingered on the sleeping child. "If there is anything I can spare that will be of help to you, it is yours. Gladly. I only need enough to obtain provisions. I am certain I must have something of value you can trade."  
  
She studied him through moist eyes. "Didn't you notice anything in the courtyard?"  
  
He thought for a microt. "I noticed nothing."  
  
Abella glanced at Vizbeth to make sure she was asleep before saying softly, "I am ostracized."  
  
He shook his head indicating that he did not understand.  
  
The words came painfully. "I am unclean. Contaminated."  
  
Crais fully understood that word. "What do you mean contaminated? By what?"  
  
"Whom," she said.  
  
Abella sat down at the table and waited for Crais to be seated across from her. She leaned forward, keeping her eyes fixed on the table "They came nearly five cycles ago. They started to round up everyone in the courtyard and then they separated some of the older children from their parents."  
  
Crais's eyes widened.  
  
"They had weapons so there was little anyone could do. I was in my cabin when I heard my neighbors' daughter scream. I ran there just as they were dragging her outside."  
  
He acknowledged with a slight nod.  
  
"I tried to pull her away from them." Abella forced a sarcastic laugh, but at the same time struggled against tears. "One of them threw me to the ground, but I did not have the good sense to stay there. I came at him, clawed his ugly face. Then he dragged me back inside and forced himself on me."  
  
Crais stared blankly at the table. Neither spoke for several microts.  
  
"And they blame you for that?" he finally asked blankly.  
  
"They blame me for giving life to his evil seed. I was ordered to abort the child. I just could not do it," she said, shaking her head briskly. "Despite what happened, she is still a part of me too."  
  
Crais stared at Abella in disbelief before turning to the little girl. "Vizbeth? But she is only a child."  
  
"A child conceived in rape, fathered by an animal."  
  
"A Peacekeeper," Crais replied flatly.  
  
Abella shrugged. "One and the same."  
  
Crais continued to watch the child in silence.  
  
"Not one person in Cullahn has spoken to me since the day she was born."  
  
"Why the frell do they blame you?" Crais asked angrily.  
  
"Because they believe she will grow up to be evil like them. And that someday Peacekeepers will return to claim her."  
  
"That is nonsense."  
  
"Soon she'll be old enough to notice that the others will not look at her or speak to her. The other children are not allowed to play with her. What will I say when she asks me why?"  
  
"Yet they feed you?"  
  
"They do not have the mivonks to watch us starve. Besides, I am the best seamstress in the village. I sew robes and leave them in they courtyard. In turn, they feed us."  
  
By now Crais was beginning to wish he had stayed outside in the darkness and frozen to death. If Abella found out what he was she would probably finish the job Talyn had started. It seemed he would never escape his past.  
  
"You understand why I need to leave?" she asked. "I do not want her to live in shame. Soon she will begin to wonder."  
  
Crais rested his face in his hands and breathed a weary sigh. "I am telling you the truth. It would be too dangerous. You know that what happened to me was not an accident."  
  
"We will take the risk." She reached across to touch his arm, but he quickly withdrew it from the table.  
  
Crais knew it would be a huge mistake to take them with him. His own chances of survival were slim at best. There were so many things that could go wrong; too many unknowns to even risk it. It was, after all, his emotions that landed him in the predicament he was in right now . . . alone and hunted. It was not a choice that any rational man would even consider.  
  
"You will always do exactly as I say," he said sternly.  
  
She nodded.  
  
"I will choose the destination. I do not have the fuel or resources to wander halfway across the uncharted territories until you find a place to your liking."  
  
Again, a nod followed by a smile. "You will not regret taking us, Bialar. That I promise you."  
  
His eyes were troubled. "Madam, I only hope you are not the one with regrets." He rubbed his face and gave a sour expression. "Do you have a razor?"  
  
End part 2 


	3. Flight Part 3

FLIGHT: Part 3  
  
* * *  
  
"Okay, so where would you go if you just got your ass handed to you?" John asked.  
  
D'Argo tapped a red-hued planet on the star chart with his finger. "Xentavar. He could resupply there and receive medical treatment. There are enough ships coming and going that his arrival wouldn't draw attention."  
  
"It's too close to where they first detected the hetch signature," Aeryn said, giving her head a shake.  
  
"But Crais wasn't even sure it was a Peacekeeper vessel," John offered. "Look, we all know this guy is a control freak. What if he was just trying to make Talyn obey and it back fired on him?"  
  
"With Crais anything is possible," grunted D'Argo.  
  
John could tell by Aeryn's expression that she was at least considering his suggestion. Yet, in the end she shook her head with certainty.  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not, Aeryn," he asked. "You sure as hell can't believe he's above this type of behavior."  
  
"No, I don't, but not this time."  
  
"Based on?" D'Argo asked.  
  
"Neither of you understand how desperate intense heat can make a Sebacean."  
  
She received no argument as both men nodded. "Crais was completely miserable, yet he kept trying to sooth Talyn, convince him that it was not safe to fire. If it was a ruse on Crais's part, he would have found a way to save face long before he let the situation get that far."  
  
"Granted, "D'Argo said. "He did look like dren."  
  
"No Sebacean risks Living Death over something that trivial." She looked directly at John. "I believe he was doing what he thought was right."  
  
He would not release her gaze. "Right for who? Him or Talyn?"  
  
"As their fortunes are now so closely intertwined, I would say both."  
  
"Could Talyn have defeated a Marauder?" D'Argo asked.  
  
"Why fight at all when they could have just starburst?" John said.  
  
Pilot, who had been closely monitoring their conversation, answered. "That was one of Talyn's arguments as well, Commander Crichton. Captain Crais would not hear of it. Talyn is young and not yet fully developed. The stress of repeated starbursts could damage him—irreparably. Crais knew this. Moya has confirmed it. The fewer times Talyn bursts before he reaches maturity, the better."  
  
"Okay, okay, so Crais is Mother Teresa." John stood at the view port, hands planted confidently on his hips, eyeing the young Leviathan.  
  
"He knows you have no real intention of helping him."  
  
John's mouth opened without producing any sound.  
  
"Then why the frell are we looking at these cartographs?" D'Argo asked sarcastically.  
  
"Just a display for my benefit," Pilot said sadly. "Moya knows. She had shared this with Talyn. You fool no one."  
  
Aeryn turned away in silence.  
  
"Ah, come on, Pilot," John said. "Crais is bad news, in spite of what you think, and what Talyn and Moya think. We're all just trying to do what's best here."  
  
"Then, Commander Crichton, perhaps you should explain that to Talyn. He assures me that Captain Crais no longer speaks ill of you."  
  
"But will Talyn harm us if he doesn't like what we have to say?" D'Argo asked.  
  
They waited intently for an answer.  
  
Pilot answered confidently. "Moya assures me that Talyn will listen, if you will."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Within the arn it was decided that John and Aeryn would board Talyn to present the grievances against Crais. D'Argo and the others would remain aboard Moya, watching from the view screen in command. Although Talyn had assured their safety, John could not easily erase the sight of Crais being slammed back and forth like a ping-pong ball.  
  
The docking ring snagged the transport pod and deposited it onto Talyn's deserted landing bay. It seemed odd not having Crais there to greet them, standing command ready with hands clasped behind his back—the lord and master of his own private domain.  
  
Both John and Aeryn knew they were being observed from the microt they stepped off the pod. Neither spoke. Their footsteps clicked and echoed as they advanced briskly through the corridors toward command. Unlike other biomechaniods, Talyn's hybrid parentage had created a more streamlined metallic frame. It had also produced the auto pulse rifles mounted atop the corridors at every bulkhead. The walk took longer than expected, as Talyn had grown considerably since the last time they were on board. The command door sliced open upon their approach and the view screen immediately activated.  
  
"Commander Crichton, Officer Sun are you all right?" Pilot asked them.  
  
"Yes, we are both fine," Aeryn answered. "Talyn has been a most gracious host."  
  
Although the DRDs had done their best to clean up the fallout from Talyn's tantrum, command was not the immaculate post Crais always kept. John spotted droplets of blood and dark smears dried on the floor leading in the direction of Crais's quarters. His red and black tunic jacket dangled ominously above the control panel, snagged on a lighting shaft.  
  
"Talyn is ready to listen" Pilot said. "He is able to understand verbal communication. Despite having the transponder, Crais spoke to him often. Whenever you are ready."  
  
"How will he answer?" John asked. "Through Moya and then you?"  
  
"Talyn will wait until you are finished to respond."  
  
John nodded at Aeryn to begin. She stepped up to the control panel and ran her hand lightly across its surface.  
  
"Hello Talyn. It is good to see you."  
  
A faint light sequence and small blip acknowledged her.  
  
"We know this past weeken has been a difficult one. We understand that you are upset by these events and are worried for Captain Crais's welfare. However, we believe it would be best for you to abandon this search and rejoin Moya … and us."  
  
They were uncertain what Talyn knew of Crais's past, but they had agreed to take it easy at first, make it plain and simple. They would let him know who and what his mentor was, but spare the gory details—if they could. Talyn was, after all, still only a child.  
  
"Hey Talyn," John said in greeting.  
  
A single beep acknowledged.  
  
"You know that Crais was a Peacekeeper before he became your Captain. You also know the Peacekeepers are hunting him, which is why he stole you from your mother—to escape them. For two cycles before that he hunted us, Aeryn, myself, the others aboard Moya. With the help of your mother, who he had also imprisoned, we were able to escape."  
  
"If Scorpius had not seized his ship, he would still be trying to kill us," Aeryn said.  
  
Beep.  
  
"And while he has not yet harmed you" she continued, "he has imprisoned and killed many other innocent people."  
  
"The Peacekeepers won't stop until they find him," John said. "And Crais will stop at nothing to survive. We believe that would include turning you over to High Command in exchange for his life, if it came to that."  
  
They waited for a response.  
  
It was Pilot who finally broke the silence. "Talyn wants to know if that is all you have to say?"  
  
Aeryn looked forcefully at John and nodded. He raked a hand through his hair, appearing uncomfortable with her decision, but eventually nodded too.  
  
"We'd like to hear what Talyn has to say now," Aeryn said.  
  
"Talyn will let Captain Crais speak for himself," Pilot answered.  
  
John instinctively reached for Winona. "What?"  
  
"Talyn enjoyed the sound of Captain Crais's voice. He would often keep their conversations on data stores to replay during the Captain's sleep periods or when he was away on commerce planets."  
  
"Did Crais know about the data stores?" Aeryn asked.  
  
"No, Talyn believes he would be most upset to find out they exist, especially this particular one."  
  
"Okay, so play it," John said.  
  
"Not here," Pilot answered. "Talyn wants to show you a place, a special place that he and Captain Crais have shared."  
  
With that the command door opened and the view screen went blank. John and Aeryn proceeded through a series of corridors, their direction chosen by the doors Talyn opened. They were about to pass into another chamber when the bulkhead sealed off their path.  
  
"Is this where you want us?" Aeryn asked.  
  
They were approximately midship, somewhere close to the maintenance bay.  
  
"Shhhhhh, did you hear it?" John asked.  
  
A faint beep, barely audible, sounded close to them.  
  
"Keep signaling Talyn," Aeryn urged.  
  
Beep.  
  
The only route other than the direction they had come was a service conduit that accessed the atmosphere ducts above the corridor. John climbed halfway up the ladder where he stopped again to listen.  
  
Beep.  
  
"It's coming from up here." He continued to the top of the ladder and waited for another signal. "This way."  
  
The passageway was approximately five feet in height, not quite tall enough for either to stand. It accessed independently sealed arteries to all of Talyn's primary control centers. As had happened earlier, a door closed abruptly, sealing their path. A microt later an overhead panel receded.  
  
Again, they heard Talyn summon from above.  
  
Beep.  
  
Standing, John's head and shoulders fit easily inside the open panel. "It's pitch black up here. How about a little light?"  
  
A beep sounded further into the darkness. He looked questioningly at Aeryn.  
  
"Up," was all she said.  
  
John pulled himself through the hole, reached down and clasped Aeryn's arm, hauling her up behind him. They inched forward on hands and knees.  
  
Beep.  
  
"This way?" he asked tentatively, only to receive a shove from behind in response.  
  
They had traveled forward a dozen feet when the panel snapped shut, leaving them concealed in complete darkness.  
  
"Oh crap," John muttered. He reached back to grasp Aeryn's arm.  
  
"Talyn?" she asked calmly, without response. The second time there was urgency in her voice. "Talyn?"  
  
Overhead, two large panels groaned and slowly separated to reveal the galaxy outside. The rich black ceiling of atmosphere with its lustrous setting of stars allowed for a small amount of visibility inside through the remaining translucent cover. The room measured about twenty-five feet square and approximately half that height.  
  
Aeryn first noticed the vibration beneath her. She sat down and spread her fingers, easing them across the floor. "John … feel."  
  
Talyn had guided them to a small bubble located directly midship between his dorsal fins. Uniquely alive and beautiful, the room throbbed with his energy. Unlike the hollow sounding metallic floors in the corridor below, this one coursed and pulsated beneath them, around them. It was similar to Moya's terrace, yet with a warmer, more intimate feel.  
  
John stretched out on his back with his fingers laced behind his head. "Oh yeah, put another quarter in the slot. This is great."  
  
"Is this where you and Crais talk?" Aeryn asked softly.  
  
Beep.  
  
"It is gorgeous."  
  
"Nice sun roof," added John, propping himself up on his elbows.  
  
"But Talyn, there is no view screen," Aeryn said.  
  
A rectangular section of the wall began to give off a soft iridescent glow until gradually a data store of Crais materialized upon it. He was lying on his back in this same room gazing up at a similar radiant display. When he spoke his rich voice filled the room from every angle.  
  
"Yes, I agree," Crais said, then waited silently. He smiled and a short time later laughed softly. "Talyn, I think you are getting ahead of yourself."  
  
In the beginning, Crais seemed to doing most of the listening. He nodded on occasion and smiled, but in an instant his expression darkened. The look in his eyes seemed distant, not one that John or Aeryn recognized.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" Crais asked quietly.  
  
He continued to stare blankly at the panorama above.  
  
"And if I tell you, do I have your word that we will not discuss it again?"  
  
He waited solemnly.  
  
"Very well then, ask your questions."  
  
Crais sighed and wet his lips. Clearly, he was uncomfortable with Talyn's request.  
  
"I was not quite seven cycles," he said vacantly. "Tauvo was four. We were outside playing. Our mother was hanging the laundry to dry. I heard this sound, unlike anything I had ever heard before. I stopped to listen. I saw father come running from the field, yelling to my mother."  
  
"'Take Tauvo in the house and stay there,' my mother told me. 'Hurry!'"  
  
"I grabbed Tauvo by the hand and pulled him inside. We both ran to the window to see what could cause such a loud angry noise. It was the first time I ever saw a Peacekeeper ground transport. It came to a stop in the yard where we played. When the ramp dropped and the black uniformed men poured out, weapons drawn, my father rushed forward to confront them. Two of them grabbed him by his arms and held him while another spoke to him. I heard my mother scream and start to cry."  
  
"Tauvo started to cry too, so I pulled him into the cold-room and latched the door behind us."  
  
He paused and inhaled deeply.  
  
"I heard heavy footsteps come inside the house. They tried the latch once, then kicked the door open."  
  
"'Come out of there,' one of them shouted."  
  
"Tauvo was still crying. He had his arms wrapped around my waist, so I held him tight against me and together we came out. They pushed us through the door and into the yard where my father was still standing. We tried to run to him, but they held us back. My father slowly approached and knelt in the dirt in front of us. The look on his face was completely unknown to me. He said the time had come for us to go with our recruiter. He told me I should take care of Tauvo. I said that I would. When he reached out to touch my brother's face, a hand came down hard on his shoulder and pulled him up and back."  
  
Crais's features hardened.  
  
"We were taken aboard the transport. There were many other children already inside. They were all crying. I did not cry," he added quickly. "It would have frightened Tauvo."  
  
He remained silent for a time. Whether Talyn was speaking or Crais had lost himself in the memory, John and Aeryn had no way of knowing.  
  
"When we arrived at the training facility each child was assigned to a bunk in a room with 30 others. One of the guards tried to lead Tauvo to a different building. I fought him with all my strength." His voice grew louder. "He pushed me back, but I kept coming at him. Each time he threw me down harder, but I kept coming. Finally, he shoved me to the ground and another of them pinned me there with his foot."  
  
"'He has mivonks,' the one with his boot planted in my back said. 'Perhaps if we let him keep the little one for a while he will behave himself and work hard. Isn't that right?' he asked as he reached down and jerked my head back by the hair."  
  
Resignation crept into his voice. "So I nodded and the guard let me keep Tauvo. From that day forward I did everything they told me to do and I did it better than anyone else. I would not lose the only family I had left."  
  
Aeryn looked at John in the dim light afforded by the projection. She knew he was not responsible for Tauvo's death, yet still wondered what he was thinking.  
  
Crais listened and nodded, his dark eyes beginning to glisten noticeably in the pale light. "I thought that if I grew powerful enough I could keep him safe. I made certain he flew with the finest units. He had the best training, equipment—"  
  
His voice faltered.  
  
"No, Talyn, it was not John Crichton's fault. I have watched it, listened to it a hundred times. It was an accident. Yet, I could not accept the fact that no one was to blame. How could my brother die for no reason?"  
  
Aeryn reached for John's hand; he squeezed it and kept it cradled in his.  
  
Crais pulled in a choppy breath as he listened.  
  
"That is what I have tried to convince myself. I did all those things for the sake of my brother." He pushed out a short sarcastic laugh. "Tauvo has been dead for over two cycles. Who should I blame for my actions since then? For Teeg …."  
  
John and Aeryn heard Talyn communicating furiously to Crais in the background.  
  
"No, Talyn." Crais shook his head briskly and brought his hands up to massage his face. "Someday they will find me. When that time comes I hope I will do what is right. Still, it is possible that I will betray you to save myself. I know nothing of friendship; my relationships are defined in terms of allies or foes. I have tried to be an ally to Crichton and the others, but they want nothing to do with me, perhaps rightly so."  
  
Beep. Beep. Beep—  
  
"Why would you think that, Talyn? Even my own father did not fight for Tauvo and me."  
  
Talyn whistled and trilled softly.  
  
"Of course there was no chance," Crais responded. "He saved himself and the end result was the same."  
  
Crais appeared to consider his next statement carefully. "But is it ever acceptable to abandon the ones you love to save yourself?" He stared at length into the darkness until a sad smile crossed his face. "I have always thought the dark part of me was a result of my Peacekeeper training, but lately I have begun to reexamine that as well."  
  
He sniffed once and cleared his throat, listening to a lengthy sequence of beeps and whistles. His face relaxed into a gentle smile.  
  
"Of course not, Talyn. I apologize for that. I know you are my friend and that you will never desert me." Crais patted the floor with his hand affectionately and let his eyes drift peacefully shut. "Yes, yes … I know. I can always count on you."  
  
Crais's image faded although the iridescent glow remained to light the room. Talyn began to trill warmly, reminding John of a contented cat.  
  
Beep.  
  
John snorted out a breath, unhappy with what he knew was coming. "Listen Talyn, I know what you told him, but I also heard what he said. If it came right down to it, Crais would have sold you out. He said so himself."  
  
The responding beep was barely audible.  
  
"You don't have to feel bad. He's not worth it, Talyn. That's just the kind of guy Crais is. He will run out on you. Friends don't do that."  
  
He turned to Aeryn expecting to receive support, but found a different message in her eyes. "I think that is what he's trying to tell us, John. Friends don't do what he did to Crais."  
  
"Crais is not his friend, Aeryn," John's voice rose sharply. "He's using him just like he uses everyone else."  
  
Talyn's quivering reaction registered instantly beneath him, accompanied by warning look from Aeryn. He patted the floor tentatively with an obliging nod.  
  
Aeryn wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on one knee. "Do you think he was being truthful about what happened to him as a child?"  
  
"Yeah, I do. That was exactly how Maldis showed it going down."  
  
"And Tauvo?"  
  
Avoiding her gaze, he pitched his shoulders slightly. "Yeah. It happened so fast."  
  
She studied him through slightly narrowed eyes. "Then exactly what part of Crais's story don't you believe?"  
  
John's blue eyes took on a twinkle. "Frell, Aeryn. I think I actually believed every word of it." He flopped onto his back, staring up. "We're stuck, aren't we?"  
  
"I am afraid so," she replied. "Our only chance was to convince Talyn to abandon his search. I honestly do not see that happening."  
  
"John! Aeryn!" D'Argo's appearance on the view screen shattered the peaceful atmosphere. "Are you all right?"  
  
"We're fine, big guy. What's going on?" John asked.  
  
"We lost communication when you were in command. I've been trying to contact your for half an arn."  
  
Aeryn slid in front of the screen. "You did not see any of that?"  
  
"The last time we saw you was in command. Where the hezmana are you now?"  
  
Pilot's calmer demeanor replaced D'Argo on the screen. "Apparently Talyn did not feel it appropriate to share the data store with the entire crew. He hopes that it helped you to understand why he must find Captain Crais. However, be aware that Moya and I intend to help Talyn search, with or without your help."  
  
"It that true?" D'Argo blustered onto the screen again. "We're really going to try to find Crais?"  
  
"We don't have much choice," John said. "Talyn is definitely not going to budge on this."  
  
"And neither is Moya," Pilot reiterated.  
  
"Aeryn and I are going to bunk here tonight, then check out Talyn's systems first thing in the morning. We'll talk when we get back. We'll need to decide which rocks to look under."  
  
"John …" she growled.  
  
"Shouldn't be hard to find," he quipped.  
  
"Don't start—"  
  
"Just follow the stench."  
  
Aeryn hissed out a breath and shook her head.  
  
  
  
End part 3 


	4. Flight Part 4

FLIGHT Part 4  
  
  
  
"Why do you tolerate it?" Crais shouted, striding angrily beside her.  
  
Abella hurried toward the cabin with Vizbeth in tow, running to keep up. Without a word she unlocked the cabin, directed Vizbeth inside, then blocked the doorway with her body. Crais stepped uncomfortably close and glared down at her.  
  
"There is absolutely no reason for such behavior," he growled. "I have never—"  
  
"Bialar, stop it," she said firmly.  
  
He gasped in disbelief. "Surely you do not believe that I am the cause of this. It is those faputas in the courtyard who need—"  
  
"Bialar! That is enough!" Abella placed a hand against his chest and pushed him backward. She stepped out and banged the door shut behind her. "Don't say anything. You just listen for a change. Maybe you are not so good at being humble, but it is my way of life. I set aside my pride every day to stay alive, to keep her alive. It is not how I choose to live … it is what has been handed me."  
  
"Abella, it is simply not right they way they treat you." Although his tone was somewhat calmer, his eyes betrayed him.  
  
She studied those dark smoldering eyes for a microt and then raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Are you angry at they way they treat Vizbeth and me, or are you upset that they will no longer speak to you?"  
  
He bristled at the remark, his spine stiffening. "Do you think I have any concern over what a bunch of shopkeepers think of me?"  
  
"Yes," she replied straight away. "I also think you are much too proud to admit it."  
  
He snorted, shaking his head without response. His pride? He should tell this woman how much pride a man has left after spending two days in the Aurora Chair, after loosing his command to a Scarran half-breed, after being hunted for the better part of a cycle. Pride? He turned his head away, lacking the words to answer.  
  
She sighed and reached to touch his face. "Bialar, let us not—"  
  
He retreated a step and brushed her hand away.  
  
"Oh, sorry." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Didn't mean to dirty you."  
  
He caught her by the arm as she turned to enter the cabin, his grip firmer than he had intended. Her steely gaze traveled from the hand still grasping her up to meet his eyes. "You know, Bialar, sometimes it is easy to understand why you got the dren beat out of you."  
  
"Madam, sometimes it is easy to understand why no one here will speak to you," he shot back without hesitation.  
  
Abella's cheeks burned with color as she stared silently at the ground. He immediately regretted his words, realizing he had wounded her. He released his grip, instead allowing his hand to tentatively stroke her bicep.  
  
Crais cleared his throat and steadied himself with a deep breath. "I apologize. Even in anger I should never have validated your mistreatment. Forgive me." He placed a finger beneath her chin and gently raised her face until her eyes met his. "Now you know why I get the dren beat out of me."  
  
He raised his brow, questioning her forgiveness.  
  
She nodded and returned a wry smile. "You know, Bialar, I think that we have both had to struggle for so long, that maybe we have forgotten when to stop." She inched closer to him and rested her palms against his chest. "I am sorry for my words as well. I do appreciate that you spoke on my behalf today. No one else has ever done that." Her eyes suddenly sparkled as she stifled a laugh. "But, my darling, if we are ever going to get our supplies, you must stop picking up the vendors and shaking them like that. I truly doubt now that we will secure any of Terrival's smoked tubers for our journey."  
  
Crais grinned haughtily. "That faputa. He deserves considerably more than just a sound shaking."  
  
She cupped her hand gently against his cheek hoping to diminish his reaction to what she was about to say. "From now on, I will bargain for the supplies alone. I think it is best that you remain here or on your ship with Vizbeth."  
  
"Nonsense," he replied brusquely. "I assure you that will not happen again. I am quite capable of negotiating with the likes of Terrival."  
  
"Oh yes," she agreed lightheartedly. "I believe you are quite capable of beating him senseless, but that will not fill our coffers with food. Terrival is not particularly well thought of, so perhaps what happened today will not substantially damage my ability to barter with the others. But it must never happen again."  
  
"As I have already stated, it will not."  
  
"Bialar, your temper—"  
  
"My temper?" he snapped. "One small disagreement and now you would accuse me of being ill-tempered? I simply find it unacceptable to be treated as a lesser by some ignorant, sniveling—"  
  
The manner of her smile silenced him.  
  
"As you wish," he grumbled. "How long will this endeavor take considering you have to conduct these exchanges with nothing more than a nod or a shrug in response?"  
  
She bit thoughtfully at her lower lip. "To lay in six to eight weekens of provisions and keep us fed in the meantime … perhaps fifteen to twenty solar days."  
  
"Unacceptable," he said firmly. "I wish to be gone from here within the weeken. Half that amount of supplies will be sufficient. It should not take that long to find a suitable place to relocate you to."  
  
Abella rolled her eyes and pushed out a breath. "And what will Vizbeth and I live on when we get there? What if it takes longer than I anticipate to find work? What will you eat?"  
  
He eyed the ramshackle cabin disdainfully. "Surely this structure is worth something. The dark look he received in response was not lost. "I only meant that we should be able to secure a substantial portion of what we need in exchange for your cabin. Would you agree?"  
  
She smiled and shook her head. "Bialar, you made it quite plain in the courtyard that we are all leaving."  
  
"Yes," he replied, unamused.  
  
"Well, we cannot very well take it with us, can we?"  
  
"Make your point, Abella."  
  
"Once the cabin is abandoned, the people of Cullahn will decide who will live here next."  
  
Crais's brow furrowed. "At what remuneration to you?"  
  
"We will already be gone," she explained in a strained voice.  
  
He folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin. "You will make it quite plain to these villagers that this cabin comes at a price. And unless they are willing to pay—"  
  
"Bialar, they are not going to pay for what they can have for nothing. You simply do not understand the way—"  
  
"Then tell them I shall burn it to the ground when we leave," he stated flatly.  
  
Abella's mouth and eyes gaped. "That would be considered a threat."  
  
He laughed, finding something about her naiveté in these matters immensely appealing. Leaning close to her ear, in a low and alluring voice he said, "No, that would be considered negotiation. Do you understand?"  
  
She nodded and motioned him close again. "That might work where you come from, Bialar, but let me tell you what will happen here. First, they tell you to go ahead and burn the frelling thing down. Then they refuse to trade with you because you threatened them. After we all starve, they still take the cabin." She flexed an eyebrow at him. "Do you understand?"  
  
Before he could answer she smoothed her palms across his chest and gazed coyly up at him. "Of course, I only know that because I have spent my whole life here. I realize once we leave Thasia I will know nothing of the world around us. Vizbeth and I will be entirely dependant on you to guide us." She turned with a faint smile and stepped into the doorway. "I will make something for us to eat before I give you a massage."  
  
Crais waited until Abella was inside to relinquish a grin. She played that well, he thought. Admittedly, she was probably correct about Terrival and the others; he had been less than successful in their dealings today. So, why not let her negotiate? If it took two weekens, what did it matter? He was not at risk. He was well fed and he enjoyed the company of this woman. Bialar Crais had found himself in far worse situations.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
The evening meal was quite enjoyable. Abella appeared to derive satisfaction from cooking for him and so Crais did not allow a lack of appetite to disappoint her. After they had finished eating and cleared the dishes, Abella and Vizbeth returned to their seats at the table.  
  
"We have something important to discuss," Abella said, while stroking Vizbeth's dark curls with her hand. "As you know," she stressed these words, giving him a look, "it is not considered proper on Thasia for young children to address adults other than their parents."  
  
Crais nodded.  
  
"However, Vizbeth is almost four cycles now. That is old enough for a child to begin speaking to her elders. Would you agree, Bialar?"  
  
"Yes, absolutely," he said, hoping that he had given the correct response.  
  
Vizbeth grinned broadly at Crais and then at her mother. Abella planted a loud kiss on her forehead, keeping the child's face cradled in her hands as she spoke. "You'll be spending quite a bit of time with Bialar the next two weekens while I am in the village and sewing. The two of you will have lots to talk about." Abella stood and scooped Vizbeth up, depositing her gently onto Crais's lap. "I will wash the plates while the two of you visit."  
  
At this point, Crais's eyes gaped wider than the child's.  
  
"You will probably need to prompt her in the beginning," Abella told him. "Bialar?"  
  
"Yes," he replied stiffly.  
  
He cleared his throat, and then tweaked the corners of his mouth into a smile as Vizbeth beamed up at him.  
  
"Bialar—"  
  
"Yes, all right," he grunted.  
  
Vizbeth sat quietly peering up at him.  
  
"You need not be frightened," he finally managed to say.  
  
"That is very good advice," Abella muttered without looking over. "Why don't you tell her about your ship, Bialar."  
  
"Well, it is actually a transport pod. And it is used to … transport things."  
  
He could hear Abella laughing now.  
  
"Your mother is fahrbot," he said, evoking a series of giggles from Vizbeth. Crais's smile was no longer forced.  
  
Vizbeth's hesitation had also vanished. She traced the outline of his goatee with her tiny fingertip. "What is this?" she asked.  
  
Crais stroked his chin. "My beard?"  
  
"Beard?" she repeated. "What is it for?"  
  
"For?" Her question puzzled him.  
  
"It is for looks," Abella said as she moved behind Crais and loosened his hair binding. "And it looks good, don't you think?"  
  
Vizbeth nodded briskly.  
  
Abella began to slowly thread her hands through his hair allowing the motion to continue along his shoulders and down his arms. "You are feeling much better today, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, thank you. The ointment you used took away most of the stiffness."  
  
"Mentha extract," she said. "It reduces the swelling and relaxes the muscle."  
  
"Smells bad," Vizbeth said, pinching her nose shut.  
  
Crais chuckled. "Yes, that it does. However, it is still very effective."  
  
Vizbeth began to stretch out a strand of Crais's hair, mimicking her mother's actions. "What is fectiv?"  
  
"Effective," Abella said. "It means, works good. And it is time we treated Bialar's sore muscles again, so you need to get down."  
  
"What did that?" Vizbeth asked, pointing to the cut on Crais's forehead.  
  
"An accident," was Abella's playful reply. "Bialar was clumsy. Now down you go."  
  
Vizbeth slid off his lap then remained standing with her hands rested on his knee. "What are we going to do tomorrow?" she asked him in a small, yet carefully articulated voice.  
  
"Actually, I must return to the transport pod tomorrow. I am afraid you will have to remain with your mother."  
  
"No, she can go with you," Abella replied.  
  
"A transport pod is not a suitable place for a child to play, and unfortunately, I have a great deal of maintenance to perform." He reached out and gave Vizbeth a tentative pat on the head. "Perhaps when your mother is available to accompany us."  
  
Abella bent down to peer directly at Vizbeth while keeping her face positioned close to Crais's. "You will not touch anything on the ship unless Bialar says it is allowed. Do you understand me?"  
  
Vizbeth nodded solemly. "Yes, mother."  
  
"There, you see," Abella said softly into his ear. "She can go with you."  
  
Vizbeth began to hop around the floor repeating, "I can go, I can go—"  
  
"Of course you can, my baby," her mother said. "I will prepare a nice lunch for the two of you to take."  
  
Crais rose slowly from the chair and turned to face her. "We need to talk."  
  
"So, talk" she said, taunting him with a smile.  
  
"Outside," he grunted.  
  
"It is cold and dark out there, Bialar."  
  
His eyes narrowed. The temperature inside had also taken on a sudden chill.  
  
"The sewing room?" she asked.  
  
He strode to the door of the small room and held it open, waiting. Abella was leisurely in her response, first instructing Vizbeth to prepare for bed before lighting a candle and stepping inside. Crais was upon her the microt he closed the door.  
  
"This tactic will not continue. I do not wish to appear harsh in front of the child and frighten her, but you leave me no alternative. Is that understood?"  
  
"Yes," she said softly and moved closer to him.  
  
Crais laughed haughtily. "Do you think I am some boy to be tempted by this?"  
  
She sighed and shook her head. "No."  
  
"Then you realize that you are wasting your time. I will not change my mind." He turned his face to the side.  
  
"I am not asking you to," she said.  
  
He turned back to eye her skeptically.  
  
"I only want you to know that I trust you with my baby, Bialar. Maybe you do not understand what that means, but I tell you this … it means everything to me. She would sit there all day and not touch a thing or say a word, because that is the way I have taught her."  
  
Crais exhaled in a gust. "I am not saying that she is not well-behaved."  
  
"I understand. You are saying that you do not feel comfortable taking care of a child. You do not know what to say when she asks you questions. You are afraid you will do something wrong."  
  
His silence spoke volumes.  
  
"Perhaps you should accompany us to the pod tomorrow," he finally said.  
  
"That will put us another day behind schedule."  
  
"It is our schedule," he responded with a shrug.  
  
Pleased with the decision, she leaned forward and planted an amiable kiss on his lips. "Thank you, Bialar. I promise—"  
  
Crais pulled her roughly into him and kissed her hard on the mouth. She was slow to break away. Slightly embarrassed by his behavior, he studied her face anxiously for some manner of response.  
  
Abella silently returned his gaze until, at length, a warm smile overcame her. She embraced him, resting her head on his shoulder as Crais closed his arms around her. Time slipped past unnoticed, unmeasured as he stroked her hair, watching the flame from the candle paint shadows on the wall. Both seemed unwilling to let go of the moment, perhaps afraid the endless cycles of loneliness might reclaim them.  
  
"I know I can be harsh at times, Bialar," she finally whispered. "I do not mean to be."  
  
He pressed a kiss against her temple. "Yes, I imagine my good nature will just have to compensate for that." He felt her body shaking lightly against him and responded with a gentle squeeze. "So, that amuses you, does it?"  
  
She arched back to regard him, keeping her hands clasped behind his neck. He was undoubtedly the most handsome man she had ever seen, especially when he smiled. "Oh no, I consider myself extremely fortunate to have found such an even tempered man as yourself."  
  
Crais tilted his head and playfully cocked an eyebrow. She smiled affectionately and raised her lips to his.  
  
At first, she enticed him with gentle nips and nuzzles, backing off slightly each time he tried to deepen the kiss. Her teasing continued until Crais grew impatient. He firmly cupped the back of her head with his hand and began to probe her mouth with his tongue. Her satisfied moans encouraged him to search for a way to access her thick woven robe.  
  
"Here, let me show you," she whispered. She tried to guide his hand to the fasteners concealed inside a pleat beneath her arm, but he reached instead to fondle her breast through the material. She moved his hand back to the hooks and this time he worked diligently to release them, repeating the step for the shoulder fastening. Once they were undone, she stepped back and shifted her shoulders, allowing the robe to drop to the floor. She smiled at the tiny groan that escaped him at the sight of her. She knew her body was attractive, her breasts large and firm, a fact her loose- fitting frock effectively concealed.  
  
She gripped the bottom of his sweater and helped him pull it over his head. Crais lifted her to a seat on the cutting table. Running his hands along her thighs, he gently separated her knees as he leaned forward to kiss her.  
  
"Bialar, stop …" She turned away and braced her hands against his chest.  
  
Her words hit him like water in the face.  
  
"Abella?" He stared desperately at her. "I need you."  
  
She gazed lustily back. "I need you too, my love, but I think you had better secure the lock on that door before Vizbeth gets curious about what the hezmana's going on in here."  
  
She smiled as he quickly complied, thinking she had never seen a man look so relieved.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
Crais sat in the grass watching Vizbeth chase petal puffs for the final time. As soon as Abella made the last delivery in Cullahn and joined them, they would board the transport pod and leave this planet. Five weekens had elapsed since his arrival, although it felt like lifetimes ago.  
  
His urgency to leave Thasia had faded and disappeared like the cuts and bruises Talyn inflicted upon him, as had his anger with the young Leviathan. Instead, he worried for Talyn's safety. Unless he had located Moya and the others, the Peacekeepers would surely have captured or destroyed him. Yet, despite his concern for Talyn, Crais now had other priorities.  
  
Vizbeth caught an orange puff and letting out a squeal of delight, held it high overhead for his approval. A nod and a smile from him was all it took to send her racing after another of the transitory blooms being swept along in the gently gusting breeze.  
  
While he had spent the weekens teaching Abella what to expect once they left Thasia, what he had learned from her was the greater lesson.  
  
He knew that recreating was a Peacekeeper word and so he was careful never to use it. Abella called the act love and so that is what he came to call it too. It still required effort. At first, he simply could not bring himself to say it. Yet, as the weekens passed, he realized that neither the word nor the feeling diminished him. In fact, he felt more of a man than he ever had. Saying I love you required a certain amount of courage. It left one so open and vulnerable. Still, he wondered if she would feel the same way toward him if she knew the truth.  
  
Vizbeth ran up from behind and curled her arms around his neck. "Is it time to go yet?" she asked impatiently.  
  
"Soon," he told her for the fourth or fifth time. "You should run and play while you are still able to. You know there is very little room on the pod for such activity."  
  
She released her hold and came around front, still slinging an arm around his neck. "I will be good."  
  
"I know you will." He kissed her on the cheek before playfully grappling her around the waist. "Or else—"  
  
She giggled and scampered back into the meadow after more of the airborne flowers.  
  
Crais spotted Abella approaching from the village. She helped Vizbeth run down a turquoise colored puff, the rarest shade, before joining him.  
  
He read the tension in her face. "Worried?"  
  
She settled onto the ground, lying back against his chest. "You mean scared, don't you?"  
  
He closed his arms around her. "This is a significant change you are making. It is only natural to second guess such an important decision."  
  
"This place is all I know," she said quietly.  
  
"You will both adapt easily. I will find a planet just as pleasant as Thasia … without the faputas.  
  
Abella sat upright and turned to face him, laughing slightly. "You might get an argument in the village as to who is the faputa."  
  
"Maybe I should pay them a little visit before we leave to discuss it," he said darkly.  
  
"No, you will not, Bialar." She soothed him with a kiss. "Jaklo's son is going to live in our cabin. I am pleased that he offered compensation, but surprised by it. I accepted these in trade." She emptied a leather pouch onto the lap of her robe.  
  
Crais rifled through the contents, nodding. "Credits, kretmas, several other currencies, all negotiable. Excellent. We can stop at a commerce planet and buy something attractive for you to wear, instead of that sack."  
  
Abella gasped and wrestled him onto his back. He submitted willingly with a sinister chuckle.  
  
"Do you want everyone too see what is only yours?" she asked as she rolled off him, despite his protests. "I have to go back after Jobann's fruit. He was out picking it fresh when I went by his shop. He should be back by now."  
  
"We will accompany you."  
  
She seemed to consider this for a microt before shaking her head. "I will take Vizbeth. I want to stop by the cabin one last time. I would rather you did not witness me make a fool of myself."  
  
"Since when?" Crais teased. "Are you certain?"  
  
She nodded and tried to smile.  
  
"I will wait here so I can help you carry the fruit the rest of the way."  
  
"It shouldn't take longer than half an arn," Abella said, standing. She called to Vizbeth and began walking slowly back toward Cullahn.  
  
Crais watched them disappear into the trees. He recounted the contents of the leather pouch and calculated the exchange. Jaklo obviously had no idea of its value, as it was far more than the small cabin was worth. He was pleased. Abella had done an admirable job of securing supplies. They had enough food to last half a cycle, plus the currency.  
  
They had opted not to relocate to another village on Thasia, fearing the truth of the child's parentage would someday be discovered. Abella was determined Vizbeth must never know the circumstances surrounding her birth. She had been told that her father passed from a virus when she was less than a cycle. Crais found himself in total agreement with this deception. In his mind, the less mentioned of Peacekeepers, the better.  
  
At first it was not so much the sound as a feeling that gripped him. He stood and faced Cullahn, listening, holding his breath. The dull distant roar continued for several microts before the meadow again fell ominously silent. Although he had heard it a thousand times since, it always stirred the same memory from forty cycles earlier. A Peacekeeper transport had just landed not far away. It seemed impossible they could have tracked him here. There was only one alternative.  
  
Recruiting squads were trained to strike quickly, identify and remove the selectees before their parents could organize or mount a defense. Crais knew they would be gone long before he could retrieve the pulse pistol from the pod. Unarmed he stood no chance against them. Plus, there was the possibility they wouldn't recruit Vizbeth.  
  
A microt later he was running toward Cullahn.  
  
Working his way along the tree line, Crais headed directly for the back of Abella's cabin. Fortunately, the transport had touched down on the opposite end of the village. He knew the squad consisted of at least six recruiting officers and a pilot who would remain on board. Four of the black shirted soldiers were visible in the courtyard, the fifth had Terrival's son by the arm, dragging him toward the ship. The shopkeeper had collapsed to his knees in the dirt, arms outstretched, sobbing.  
  
"Why don't you fight," Crais snarled under his breath.  
  
He rapped on the side of the cabin, calling out to Abella as loudly as he dare. When she failed to answer, he began to maneuver the perimeter of the outer most ring of cabins trying to find her. There was also one recruiter left to account for.  
  
"Take your frelling hands off her!"  
  
The cry came from close by. At first, Crais could not see who it was; he did not have to. He darted between the next set of buildings and ducked into a doorway. Midway between his position and the courtyard, Abella fought desperately to free Vizbeth from the final Peacekeeper's grasp. The recruiter, as tall and stout as a Luxan, repeatedly swatted away Abella's frantic charges. Crais doubted any Peacekeeper would continue to tolerate such behavior for long. He had to make a move now, before she got herself killed.  
  
Abella's continued harassment provided enough of a distraction to allow him to quickly circle and intercept them. Armed with a piece of pipe, Crais flatted his back against the side of the building and waited for his target to pass. He struck him from behind, a solid blow that buckled the officer's knees.  
  
Abella stumbled forward to free Vizbeth.  
  
"Run!" Crais ordered her.  
  
She hesitated. "Bialar, I am not leaving—"  
  
"I will follow when you have reached safety. Now go!"  
  
The blow had barely stunned the soldier, who was already struggling to stand. Crais belted him with the pipe a second time.  
  
Abella picked up Vizbeth and sprinted for the trees. After running for what felt like metras she concealed the child in brush and started back. Cautiously, she stole her way to the edge of the clearing, hoping to find him waiting there. Her search soon ended. Under cover of the forest she collapsed, sobbing.  
  
Bialar Crais had not made it out of the village.  
  
She watched through tears as the Peacekeepers bent down to examine his body. They turned out his pockets and rolled him over. After some discussion, the tall one who had seized Vizbeth earlier took him by the arms and dragged him across the courtyard to their ship.  
  
End part 4 


	5. Flight Part 5

FLIGHT: Part 5  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
"Over here, Aeryn," John called. He had located Talyn's transport pod using the coordinates Chiana provided from aboard Moya.  
  
She advanced at a trot. "Any sign of Crais?"  
  
"It looks deserted."  
  
"Any word from D'Argo yet?" she asked.  
  
He shook his head, motioning her to maneuver around the back of the vessel. They circled, meeting at the base of the landing ramp. "So what do we do now?" he asked. "Knock?"  
  
Aeryn activated her comm. "Is Talyn still reading life forms aboard the transport?"  
  
"Yes, two of them, both Sebacean," Stark acknowledged. "Talyn continues to hail without response. He is concerned that Crais might still be angry with him and that is why he refuses to answer."  
  
"Is he certain it is even Crais?" she asked.  
  
"Talyn thinks it could be, but he is not entirely certain." Stark paused a microt. "Maybe, maybe not. Possibly—"  
  
Aeryn terminated the signal.  
  
"He has no idea," John muttered, although he now knew who at least one of the occupants was aboard the transport. He carefully raised his bands to chest level and cleared his throat, motioning to Aeryn toward the hatch with his head.  
  
The woman in doorway possessed an almost angelic appearance, porcelain complexion, dark flowing hair, and a floor length white robe. She aimed the pulse pistol steadily in a classic two-handed Peacekeeper stance.  
  
John smiled nervously. "Hi there. Is Bialar home?"  
  
"Who are you and why do you want to know?" she asked.  
  
"My name is John Crichton. This is Aeryn Sun. We just want to talk to him."  
  
Her eyes shifted from one to the other while keeping the pulse pistol trained on Crichton.  
  
"If he's injured, we can help."  
  
"And why would you think he's injured?" she asked curtly.  
  
John nodded his understanding. "Look, it wasn't us. We know he was hurt. That's why we're here."  
  
"John," Aeryn said under her breath. "Crais is not inside."  
  
The pod's second occupant peeked around the edge of the hatch and immediately ducked back inside.  
  
"There is no need for that gun," John said softly. "We're not going to hurt you or the child. Please … put it down."  
  
She glanced inside the pod then back to Crichton. She stared into his eyes at length before slowly lowering the gun to her side.  
  
"I am Abella. My daughter is called Vizbeth." She struggled to continue, her breath catching in her throat. "Bialar is gone."  
  
Aeryn nodded. "Yes, we know he is not here. When do you expect him back?"  
  
She looked over at the child and instructed her to remain inside the pod. As she descended the ramp, tears began to stain her cheeks. "The Peacekeepers came here two days ago to steal our children. Bialar fought them to save Vizbeth."  
  
"They got Crais?" John asked.  
  
Abella stared vacantly past him. "He told me to run. He said he would follow when we reached safety."  
  
"Did the Peacekeepers take Crais?" John placed his hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "Abella?"  
  
She turned to face him and nodded. "They took him to their ship. I do not know if he was still alive."  
  
"We could have Moya scan their frequencies," Aeryn said. "Maybe they're talking about it."  
  
Abella gripped Crichton's arm. "You have a way to find out what happened to Bialar?"  
  
"We're not sure, it could be—"  
  
She swung the pulse pistol up to eye level. Aeryn drew down on her in response.  
  
"Ladies …please," Crichton pleaded. "Let's stop waiving those things around before somebody here gets hurt."  
  
"You should never point a weapon at someone unless you plan to use it," Aeryn said with a steely glare.  
  
"That is exactly what Bialar said when he taught me how to shoot."  
  
"Then consider the fact that you have a child inside the transport."  
  
Abella gave a slight nod, narrowing her eyes. "Yes, I have. And you might want to consider the fact that there is an extremely large ugly creature stalking you from behind."  
  
John and Aeryn spun around, weapons drawn.  
  
D'Argo was not amused. "What the frell is it with the people on this planet?" he grumbled.  
  
"They probably don't see a lot of Luxans out this direction," John said, trying not to laugh. "Or big ugly creatures either."  
  
Abella lowered the pulse pistol, her face flushed. "I am so sorry. Bialar told us about beings from many different planets. He tried to teach Vizbeth and me not to be frightened or to react badly." She kept a cautious eye on the Luxan as he approached, but relinquished the gun into Crichton's outstretched hand.  
  
"Abella, meet D'Argo."  
  
He nodded curtly.  
  
"I apologize D'Argo. This would not have happened if Bialar were still here."  
  
D'Argo's face contorted in disgust at the mere mention of Crais's name. "At least this one admits to knowing him. No one else in the village would speak of him, other than to say the Peacekeepers took a man fitting his description two days ago."  
  
"It was definitely Crais," Aeryn said. "Apparently they were recruiting and he tried to interfere."  
  
"In that respect he was successful," D'Argo said. "After they captured him, the Peacekeepers released the children they had seized and left."  
  
Abella looked anxiously to John. "If he is still alive can you take me to him?"  
  
"The Peacekeepers execute deserters," D'Argo replied brusquely. "Captain Bialar Crais is already dead. I suggest that we give Talyn the bad news and leave here before they return."  
  
Aeryn shook her head. "Perhaps not. They could believe that he has valuable information about John or Talyn. If so, it would take a while to get interrogators here capable of extracting what they want. Crais has been tortured before. If he does not want to talk, it will take more than a—"  
  
A cautionary look from John silenced her.  
  
Abella began to back away from them, trembling, each breath a tiny gasp.  
  
"Okay, maybe we're being just a little insensitive here." John reached out and offered his hand to her, but she slapped it aside.  
  
"You are wrong!" she sobbed.  
  
"I hope so," John said. "I hope he is alive and—"  
  
"He is not a Peacekeeper!" Abella shouted.  
  
The commotion brought Vizbeth running from the pod. She clutched her mother's leg and began to cry. Abella sank to her knees and hugged the child against her, tearfully looking up at Crichton. "He is not a Peacekeeper," she repeated faintly, yet this time her words sounded more like a question.  
  
"No, not anymore," he finally said.  
  
"But he was?"  
  
John nodded.  
  
She stared blankly at him for several microts, her already pale complexion colorless. After calming the child with soothing words and a kiss, she stood and wiped her own face dry of tears. She drew her shoulders back and summoned a deep breath.  
  
"Do any of you know how to fly this ship?" Abella asked.  
  
D'Argo snorted. "Of course we know how to fly it. It is our ship."  
  
Abella's tone and expression were suddenly hollow. "It was Bialar's ship and now it is our home. If you are able to transport us to a more suitable location, you are welcome to it. However, I will expect compensation."  
  
"We will not compensate you for what is already ours," D'Argo sputtered.  
  
John raised a hand to silence his friend. "What's wrong with this planet? It seems like a nice enough place, minus the Peacekeepers."  
  
"We cannot stay here." She shifted her gaze to Vizbeth and then back to Crichton. "I cannot tell you the reason now, but I am telling you the truth."  
  
"And that same reason is why Crais was taking you with him?" Aeryn asked.  
  
The look Abella cast Aeryn was lethal. "My arrangement with Bialar is none of your concern."  
  
Aeryn folded her arms across her chest and nodded, taunting the other woman with a slightly wicked grin.  
  
John approached his crewmates. He kept his back to Abella and Vizbeth, his words muted. "Look, let's get back to Moya. We see if we can pick up any transmissions and find out what happened to Crais. Once we can satisfy Talyn that he's gone, we're home free. Finding a home for these two shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"She expects compensation," D'Argo grumbled.  
  
John rubbed his face and sighed. "It's a woman and kid, D'Argo."  
  
Aeryn nudged D'Argo with her elbow. "This is not a good situation to be in if the Peacekeepers return. Let's get the other transport back to Moya. John can take these two aboard Talyn."  
  
The Luxan grunted and strode away still mumbling to himself.  
  
John thanked her with a grin. "I'll need your help with Talyn."  
  
"I'll brief the others and have Pilot start monitoring their transmissions. It shouldn't take more than a couple of arns." Aeryn leaned in. "In the meantime, maybe you can find out about her arrangement with Crais. See if he taught her anything besides how to aim a pulse pistol."  
  
She backed away with a mischievous grin, turned and trotted after D'Argo.  
  
* * *  
  
"Captain Bialar Crais! Such a pleasure to have you here."  
  
Captain Rahl grasped a handful of black hair and snapped his victim's head back. "I am talking to you, Crais." Raul bent down to scrutinize the unconscious man's face in detail before letting it drop forward again. "Not very talkative today is he, Officer Shainek?"  
  
"No sir." The towering recruiter responsible for Crais's capture stood stoically at attention, his eyes intently tracking Rahl's movements.  
  
"Is there a problem?" he asked.  
  
"Permission to express myself candidly, sir."  
  
Captain Raul's close-set eyes glinted as his tone mocked the younger man. "Yes, by all means, do speak candidly."  
  
"Sir, Head Recruiter Bekk informs me that the prisoner is being transported to the Gammak base for public execution. Members of High Command, plus select personnel from two Command Carriers will be in attendance."  
  
Captain Rahl dipped his head in agreement.  
  
"It is High Command's intent to make an example of this traitor. He is to be restrained on a podium where he will be subjected to a controlled burst of Novatron gas. He will die in excruciating pain as his body is literally eaten away."  
  
"And I am quite certain his captor will be publicly acknowledged." Rahl pitched his brow. "Perhaps even a promotion?"  
  
Officer Shainek fought a grin. "The temporal monitors have indicated that Crais is truthful in his responses denying that he has knowledge of the whereabouts of the human, John Crichton, or of the Leviathan gunship."  
  
"Correct again, Shainek." Rahl's eyes narrowed. "Now make your point and stop wasting my time."  
  
"Sir. It is High Command's intent that Bialar Crais publicly renounce his actions. They wish to see him beg for mercy and ultimately plead for his own death."  
  
"Yes," Rahl snapped. "I already know all that."  
  
"Crais has been interrogated for almost two solar days. His has been unconscious for an arn. His life signs border unstable and we still have six solar days before we reach the Gammak base. It would be a shame if he died before his execution."  
  
The Captain pursed his lips, nodding. "Yes, that would take a bit of the shine off your achievement, wouldn't it?"  
  
"No sir," Shainek replied briskly. "I captured him alive. I believe that whoever was responsible for depriving High Command of the enjoyment of witnessing his death would find himself in a most precarious position."  
  
Rahl circled the chair, eyeing Crais circumspectly. He fingered his bottom lip absently as he thought, then pivoted on his heels and strode to the door. "Have the physician check him," he barked, keeping his back to Shainek. "I want him alive, not comfortable. Is that understood?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
As the door closed, Officer Shainek heard a sound coming from Crais, a groan, possibly a cough. His chest and shoulders twitched slightly. He rushed to assist him in the event he was choking. While slightly elevating his head to open the airway, his eyes met the prisoner's. He stepped back, in disbelief of what he saw.  
  
Crais was laughing, or at least making the attempt.  
  
"Exactly what aspect of your situation do you find humorous?"  
  
"Shamuk, is it?"  
  
"Shain …ek, Officer Shainek."  
  
"That a big dumb grot like yourself would be worried that I might die and spoil his chance for recognition is humorous, don't you think?"  
  
"How much did you hear?" Officer Shainek asked.  
  
"I did not have to hear to know my fate. I have always known. It was only a matter of when."  
  
Officer Shainek crouched in front of the chair and studied him with curious eyes. "Why? We would have been gone in half an arn. You could have concealed yourself. We had no knowledge of your presence on that planet."  
  
Crais's eyes drifted shut, his laughter only audible as small puffs of breath escaping. "What are you Shainek? A breeding project or just a farm boy, like me?"  
  
"I am no breeding project," he snapped back.  
  
"What then? A conscript?"  
  
"I was honored by my selection to serve."  
  
"You were stolen from your mother, the same as I was," Crais muttered. "You cried for her when you thought no one was watching. You still wonder every day if she remembers or thinks of you."  
  
Anger contorted the young man's face. "You were the one who made it … the example. You gave every conscript born to lowly dirt scratchers the hope they would someday command. Just when there was a chance we could become more than grots, techs, servers …"  
  
"I resigned my commission when—"  
  
"You deserted!" Shainek shot back.  
  
The two men glared at each other in uneasy silence.  
  
Crais bowed his head. "When my brother died, I realized that everything I had struggled to achieve was meaningless. I had never truly believed in the Peacekeeper doctrine. I believed only in my brother and whatever it took to keep us together."  
  
"By reputation, you were one of the harshest commanders in the corps."  
  
He nodded. "I realized at a young age that conscripts were merely destined to serve. There was only one way to be noticed."  
  
Shainek shook his head in disgust. "You had everything."  
  
"I had nothing," Crais snarled. "Only this last cycle have I known what it is to live."  
  
"And soon enough you will know what it is to die. Was is worth it?"  
  
He rested his eyes for several microts before opening them to meet his captor's questioning gaze. "Yes, it was," he replied with calm and clarity.  
  
Officer Shainek turned and walked to the door. "I will summon the ship's physician."  
  
* * *  
  
John watched her standing at the view port, eyes fixed straight ahead, seeing only memories. Initially, they were all expecting, if not determined, to dislike her. She was, after all, Crais's woman. It was odd how so much could change in just three days. He waited in the middle of the room, allowing her the choice of his company.  
  
She turned her head a bit and offered a faint smile. "Hey," she said.  
  
She caught on very quickly. He grinned back. "Hey." Accepting the implied invitation, he walked over to join her at the view screen.  
  
"Where's Viz?" he asked.  
  
"She is with Jool and Chiana. They were going to dress her and fix her hair in a braid."  
  
John chuckled. "Those two are like kids with a doll."  
  
"You have all been so good to us. I do not think I will ever be able to express my gratitude adequately."  
  
"Actually, I think we owe you."  
  
Abella eyed him curiously.  
  
"The sight of Vizbeth sailing down the corridors on the back of the throne sled, hugging Sparky for dear life— that was priceless. And that squeal she let out—"  
  
She tipped her head back and laughed softly. "I still say that was Rygel screaming, not my daughter. It is so good to see her laugh though. She is not accustomed to receiving any attention, much less having it lavished upon her. Until a monen ago she existed only to me."  
  
A frown creased Crichton's face. "It's hard to imagine those people treating the two of you like that. There are worse things to be guilty of than having a child by a Peacekeeper."  
  
"Like what, John?" she asked. "Having two?"  
  
The comment immediately corrected his posture. At first, he could only stare straight ahead, open-mouthed. Gradually, he rotated his head slowly toward her, wearing a skewed expression that evolved into an uncertain grin. "You're pregnant?"  
  
Abella answered with a deliberate solitary nod.  
  
"Did Crais know?"  
  
"He did not." She threaded her hands through her hair, sweeping it from her face, and sighed wearily. "At first, I wanted his child so he would not leave me when we reached our new home. Then, I hesitated to tell him because I wanted him to stay only because he loved me. Do you understand?"  
  
"You planned this?"  
  
"I would not say planned, I simply failed to prevent it." A sudden glint flickered in her eyes. "And considering I spent more time on my back this last monen than a tralk working a merchant bazaar—"  
  
He threw his head back and let loose a heartfelt laugh. What he wouldn't give to see the expression on daddy Crais's face. It seemed that Bialar might have finally met his match in this woman. "Despite what's happened you're happy about this baby, aren't you?" he asked.  
  
"Yes … I am." She touched his arm. "I am not ready to tell the others yet, or Vizbeth. Will you keep this to yourself?"  
  
He brought one hand up to his lips and made a twisting motion with his fingers. "Consider it our secret."  
  
She acknowledged the odd gesture with a tentative smile and returned to her memories, staring solemnly out the view port. John buried his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight as the silence lengthened and became awkward. With the exception of Aeryn, the others all believed Crais was probably already dead. He had mixed feelings. While the situation certainly looked hopeless, Captain Bialar Crais had made a living at saving his own ass. For Abella's sake, he even found himself hoping that Crais was still alive. He wished he had better news to share with her now.  
  
"Talyn and Moya have picked up a significant increase in Peacekeeper transmissions. Someone is doing an awful lot of talking out there."  
  
She listened uneasily.  
  
"D'Argo and Aeryn are with Pilot right now sifting through them. They're finding a great deal of code deeply encrypted in routine messages. So far, they haven't been able to crack it. On the surface what they're picking up shows a substantial number of ships being diverted to the Gammak base."  
  
"Was there any mention of Bialar?" she asked.  
  
He grimaced and shook his head. "Nothing yet. So far it's been coordinates and routine reports. We'll keep—"  
  
"John?" D'Argo's voice came over the comm.  
  
"Yeah, big guy. Did you find something?"  
  
His reply was tentative. "Perhaps you should just come here."  
  
* * *  
  
They had not expected Abella to accompany Crichton to Pilot's den. While D'Argo could only stare in uncomfortable silence, Pilot tried to look busy. Aeryn's Peacekeeper training served her well.  
  
"Abella, I'm glad you're here," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll be relieving Stark aboard Talyn within the arn. If you and Vizbeth would like to accompany me at that time it will save Crichton from making a second trip later."  
  
"Good idea," John said quickly, picking up on the tension. "That is, if Jool and Chiana will let you have your daughter back."  
  
Abella ignored both of them. Instead, she walked directly to D'Argo and raised her eyes to his. He would not, or could not return her gaze. "You can tell me," she said evenly. "I already know it is bad news or you would not be so hesitant. Is he dead?"  
  
D'Argo regarded her in silence before nodding confidently. "Yes. He died from the injuries he received when he was captured. He never regained consciousness. We uncovered this information in a report made directly to the High Command."  
  
She turned and gripped the edge of the den's control panel to steady herself. Pilot bowed his head to afford her privacy. The questioning look Crichton cast in Aeryn's direction was met with a stern, barely distinguishable shake of her head.  
  
Abella's lip quivered and tears threatened, but refused to fall. "The truth must be quite horrible if you think it is more merciful to tell me that he is dead." She focused her attention back on D'Argo, who cast a desperate look in Crichton's direction. "Do not look at John to tell you what to say. I will know the truth, even if it has to come from Talyn. Do you think there is anything worse than what I have already imagined?"  
  
It was Aeryn who finally relented. "Yes. The forces assembling at the Gammak base are there to witness his execution. It is scheduled to take place five solar days from now."  
  
"He is still alive then?"  
  
Aeryn closed the distance between herself and the other woman. "Yes," she said softly, but her expression tainted the word.  
  
"What is the rest of it?" Abella asked.  
  
"Nearly half the Peacekeeper force is conscripted, yet the entire command structure is the product of selective pairings from within. Crais was the exception. Several members of High Command fought vigorously against commissioning him. It opened a door they wanted to keep closed. Unfortunately, his desertion gave them the ammunition they needed to declare all conscripts unfit for command. Considering the circumstances—"  
  
"John has already told me," Abella replied staunchly. "He killed a fellow officer and stole Talyn. For a time he lost control."  
  
"Discipline is the Peacekeepers' foundation. Crais is a crack in that foundation. They are going to make certain no one ever follows in his footsteps."  
  
"Tell me, what are they going to do to him?"  
  
D'Argo finally found his voice. "Novatron gas. The reports say they are going to expose him to it."  
  
Abella stared blankly at the Luxan, having no idea what that meant. Crichton knew immediately.  
  
"Those son of a bitches," he muttered.  
  
"What?" she asked. "What does it do?"  
  
John turned her to face him, wrapped her hands in his and held them there. He understood now why D'Argo had lied. "They intend to make him suffer, Abella. Isn't that enough to know?"  
  
"Would it be enough for you, John Crichton?"  
  
It was Aeryn who answered from behind her. "It is a Plokavian chemical weapon, so deadly that Leviathan's are forbidden to transport it. It eats away the body tissue until the damage is deep enough that the victim dies of blood loss."  
  
The strength that had supported her through the previous days and the cycles before them finally crumbled. She collapsed against John's chest, sobbing. He gathered her in his arms and with a look of resignation to the others, acknowledged there was nothing left to do. D'Argo and Aeryn had begun to walk away when Pilot cried out in alarm.  
  
"No Talyn! Absolutely not!"  
  
Aeryn rushed back, flanked by D'Argo. "Pilot, what is it?"  
  
"It's Talyn. He insists he is going to attack the Gammak base."  
  
"The hell he is!" John cried out. He gripped Abella by the shoulders as though he needed to explain. "You understand he can't do that, don't you?"  
  
She managed a nod.  
  
"Let me talk to him," Aeryn instructed Pilot. "Talyn that would be suicide. There is no way you can prevail against a Gammak base, much less two Command Carriers. I know you want to help Crais, but you cannot. There is nothing you can do. It is not possible to get him out of there. You would be destroyed."  
  
"Talyn said he knows that," Pilot responded. "Yet he believes he is responsible for the situation Captain Crais finds himself in."  
  
"Getting yourself killed is not going to help him," John said.  
  
Pilot's eyes flared in disbelief. "He said you are wrong, his death will serve a purpose. If he is able to land one clear shot before he is destroyed, he can prevent the horrible fate that awaits his friend."  
  
"That does not make any sense," D'Argo grumbled.  
  
"I'm afraid it does," John said, numbed by the thought.  
  
Pilot nodded. "Yes. Talyn intends to kill Captain Crais before the Peacekeepers can torture him further."  
  
"Listen to me, Talyn," Aeryn said. "I know you want to spare him the pain of the Novatron gas, but it is almost certain you will be destroyed before you ever reach the base. Crais's pain will last half an arn, perhaps less. Considering the amount of interrogation he has been subjected to, he may not even be aware of what is happening to him."  
  
Abella finally managed to speak. "Talyn, I do not believe Bialar would want you to do this. I am certain he does not blame you. The decision to fight for Vizbeth was his own."  
  
Pilot's shoulders slumped at the young Leviathan's response. "He will not yield."  
  
"Guns!" Stark's voice blared across the comm. "I have guns pointing at me. Is there a problem?"  
  
"We'll handle it from here, Stark," John replied.  
  
"Guns!" he repeated.  
  
"Can we stop him?" John asked.  
  
Aeryn shook her head. "He will seal off the landing bay. There is no way we can get aboard if he doesn't want us there. I believe he is now trying to force Stark to leave."  
  
"What about Moya," D'Argo asked. "Can she stop him?"  
  
"No," Pilot answered. "She has tried. Talyn is adamant in this regard. He will not allow Captain Crais to suffer the effects of Novatron gas. There is nothing we can do. He does, however, intend to allow Stark to return to Moya."  
  
"I should return to Moya?" Stark asked happily.  
  
"Wait, I might have an idea," John said. "Aeryn, what do you know about the layout of this base and where they'll be holding Crais?"  
  
"In addition to the base, Krennat V is also a heavily visited commerce planet with a great deal of traffic in both merchant vessels and Peacekeeper supply ships. While we don't know exactly where they will hold Crais, the execution will likely take place in the Krenn Arena. Because of the danger of releasing Novatron in a smaller enclosed space and the sheer number of troops being assembled, it is the only likely choice."  
  
"Open air?" John asked.  
  
"Yes, Pantak matches are held there."  
  
He wet his lips and raked a hand through his hair, the thought process playing freely across his face. His blue eyes glimmered as the plan began to mesh together in his mind. "People love a good show, right? We know there'll be hundreds, maybe even thousands of onlookers. I get a vantage point, wait until they bring Crais out in the open and then I shoot him. Show's over."  
  
"That is insane," D'Argo growled. "Then you will either be killed or captured."  
  
"D'Argo is right," Aeryn said.  
  
He raised his hands in explanation. "No, that's the beauty of it. They would never expect anyone to assassinate a prisoner right before his execution. I drop the weapon and walk out with the crowd. Do you actually think they believe Crais has any friends that might try to help him?" He offered a shrugged apology to Abella. "What do you say, Talyn?"  
  
Pilot blinked in surprise. "Talyn is agreeable. However, he intends to remain close by and follow through with his plan in the event that you fail."  
  
"Which is likely," Aeryn said. "You are not the best marksman in the Uncharted Territories. I should be the one to go."  
  
"No Aeryn, I am going."  
  
"Agreed," she said firmly. "We will both go."  
  
"I have things under control," Stark blurted over the comm. "Everything is back to normal."  
  
"Oh yes," D'Argo grumbled. "It certainly is."  
  
  
  
End part 5 


	6. Flight Part 6

FLIGHT: Part 6  
  
* * *  
  
It was ironic. How many times had he been the monster on the opposite side of the cell door? Yes, Bialar Crais knew what it was to dangle hope within the grasp of a condemned man, watch him claw and scratch for it, only to see it snatched away at the final moment. Yet even in this reversed role, Crais still held one advantage over them. He already knew he would never leave this place alive.  
  
There was no way of judging the passage of time in his unlit, barren cell, although he estimated at least two or three solar days had passed. The cold metal floor tortured his broken bones, which included his left arm and several ribs. As Captain Rahl had ordered, he was alive, not comfortable. Such a despicable little man, Crais thought, knowing full well he had once been that person. Only two thoughts sustained him. It would soon be over. And her.  
  
If he had died a monen ago, Bialar Crais would have never known if that hastily made decision to flee with Talyn had been the correct one. While his future certainly looked bleak at the time, Scorpius might have been coerced into making a deal. There were at least options then. Yet, in that microt he took a chance that his life could be different. He did not regret his choice.  
  
It heartened him to know they were safe. If Rahl had captured Abella or Vizbeth he would have killed them in front of him, just to witness his grief. It pleased him to know that the young Leviathan had also escaped. He knew this with all certainty because they had spent a great deal of time torturing him for Talyn's location.  
  
There were voices coming from outside the cell now. He heard them often, but could never form the muffled sounds into words. With a sharp click, the door slid open. Crais shielded his eyes against the sudden bright light that stung them, yet it was not necessary to see. The distinct high- pitched voice of Captain Rahl sent a shiver through him.  
  
"Good news, Crais. You're finally getting out of here. Get up." Rahl landed a boot in his back, slamming Crais against the wall. "Officer Shainek, get this piece of dren cleaned up and ready to transport to the arena. We do not want to keep High Command waiting."  
  
Shainek stepped toward the prisoner. "On your feet, Crais."  
  
As he attempted to stand, a huge hand latched on to his shoulder and pulled him up. He cried out as the pain ripped through his chest.  
  
"You will have to do better than that," Rahl scoffed. "The officers in the back row will never be able to hear such a pathetic little yelp." He stood eye to eye with Crais, wrinkling his nose at the prisoner's odor. "If it were up to me, I would march you out there just as you are, but Commander Kreppa wants you cleaned up."  
  
Crais turned his dark eyes on Rahl, but remained close mouthed. The smirk on Rahl's face came and went. He buried a fist in Crais's midsection that dropped him to the floor.  
  
"I am going to enjoy watching you scream until you are nothing more than a pile of entrails on that stage." He turned to Shainek. "Have him ready to transport in half an arn."  
  
Shainek again clamped a hand onto the prisoner's shoulder and raised him to his feet. From the cell, they progressed through a series of corridors on their way to a shower room. Crais felt the eyes of the soldiers trained on him as they passed, most more curious than loathsome. When they reached their destination, Shainek gave him a slight shove into the room and locked the door behind them. A gray shirt and trousers, loose fitting standard prisoner's issue, hung on a hook alongside the shower stall. Shainek started the water and turned to Crais, who was propped against the wall to support himself.  
  
"Do you require assistance?" Shainek asked. "We do not have a great deal of time."  
  
Crais pulled his shirt up with his right hand, protecting his rib cage and left arm as much as possible. Shainek made a face at his feeble attempt and helped him remove it. Crais unfastened and stepped out of his trousers. He slowly moved beneath the nozzle, pleasantly surprised to find the water warm and inviting. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and let the water rush over him until a rap on the side of the stall from Shainek jarred him back to reality. The officer stood at arm's length offering a bar of soap, which Crais accepted with a shake of his head. He would have laughed, but that would have caused him too much pain.  
  
Shainek must have understood, as he tried to explain. "They want you recognizable to the soldiers who served under your command. They want you very alive when they flip the gas switch, not some near corpse who can no longer appreciate the pain."  
  
"Thank you for that bit of insight," Crais replied curtly. "Tell me, I have not seen Scorpius. Certainly he is planning to attend. I expected to have at least one more session in that infernal chair of his."  
  
"Scorpius is not here."  
  
Crais stopped lathering himself for a microt and looked over, puzzled.  
  
"Once they reported that you had no knowledge of John Crichton's whereabouts he decided against attending."  
  
He scowled at that. "I am disappointed. I assure you, I would have traveled a great distance to witness that abomination's death."  
  
Shainek allowed a slight grin and motioned with his head at Crais to continue washing. He walked across the room and returned with a towel. "We need to hurry."  
  
Crais rotated slowly, rinsing the soap away. He stopped with his head tipped back, eyes closed, allowing the water to continue coursing through his long black hair. Shainek reached in and turned off the showerhead, then thrust the towel at him.  
  
"Get dressed," he ordered.  
  
Moving laboriously to the bench, Crais sat down and began to dry himself. Shainek waited across the room, arms folded across his chest, his gaze fixed on the wall above the prisoner. Crais stopped, waiting until finally the Peacekeeper's eyes shifted to meet his. Shainek's expression warned against asking for any favors.  
  
"I only wanted to thank you for not killing her," Crais said. "I know your strength. It must have taken great restraint not to harm her, considering her behavior. I am in your debt."  
  
Shainek shrugged slightly. "It is fortunate for her that you interfered when you did. I would have eventually been forced to injure her to make her stop. One of the others might have killed her."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You must care a great deal for this woman."  
  
He tipped his head, considering the answer. A faint smile gradually relaxed his face and his dark eyes shone serenely despite the pain. In that microt, Bialar Crais felt the last vestiges of his life as a Peacekeeper fall away. Oddly, for a man imprisoned, about to die, he felt liberated.  
  
"Yes, I do," he said, quite unashamed. "I love her."  
  
Although he did not respond, Shainek's expression softened a bit. He reached over, removed the clothing from the hook and tossed it to Crais, who had less difficulty putting on the loose fitting trousers and open shirt. They had taken his boots days ago, leaving him barefoot. Once he had finished dressing, Shainek assisted him by tying the sash around his waist and binding his hair back with a strip of cloth.  
  
"You are ready," Shainek announced rigidly. He hesitated, and then looked solemnly at the prisoner. "You have accounted well for yourself up to this point. This will soon be ended. You must realize by now there is no chance of escape. You can walk into that arena with your dignity or Captain Rahl will drag you there. This is the only decision that remains in your hands. The rest of what will happen today is already decided."  
  
Crais gave a small nod. He was already determined that his life was the only thing the Peacekeepers would take from him this day.  
  
Shainek started to key in the sequence to open the door, then stopped. He looked away momentarily. "I am told that when exposed to Novatron, it is instinctive to try and hold your breath. This causes the cellular destruction to be confined to the outside of the body. This would be a mistake. Breathe as deeply as you can. The damage internally to your lungs will greatly decrease the interval between exposure and death."  
  
He quickly finished the sequence and motioned Crais out into the corridor.  
  
* * *  
  
John adjusted his turban and mumbled something about Aeryn's choice of disguises. Cedran spice merchants did not dress for style or comfort. The long braided ends of the mustache kept getting stuck in his collar and the bristly top hairs tickled his nose. His decision not to hang loose and casual beneath the scratchy black robe meant he was already sweating bullets.  
  
He worked his way around the arena, finally selecting a position next to a support pillar on the second level. He estimated seven or eight hundred Peacekeepers in the arena, all on the field below at ground level. They had erected a raised stage in the middle of the field, with a speaker's podium in the center. On the left side, approximately thirty chairs were arranged into three rows, on the opposite end stood a cylindrical clear enclosure with a solitary post inside. The three-tiered circular grandstand was completely open to onlookers, of which probably more than a thousand had already gathered.  
  
The absence of guards posted at the ramps leading in and out of the arena only reinforced what John already knew. Gammak V was the Peacekeeper equivalent of Fort Knox. In addition to the ships regularly stationed at the base, two command carriers now orbited overhead. Talyn would have been history before he had ever gotten a shot off.  
  
At the designated time, John opened the comm. "Fatima, do you read me?"  
  
"Exactly who are you referring to as a fat eema?" Aeryn replied sharply. "You're lucky I don't have you in my sights."  
  
He clamped a hand over his mouth. "I swear to you, that was a translator microbe error."  
  
She had not appreciated his earlier comments either, although she did not have the faintest frelling idea who this girl Jeannie was he kept blathering about, or what it meant to cross your arms in front of you, nod and blink. The loose flowing robe, headdress and veils were necessary to conceal both her identity and the rifle from what might be some of her former Prowler shipmates. She could see Crichton below from her vantage point on the third level, two exits to her right.  
  
"Crais will be secured with his back to the post," she said. "Do you have a clear shot?"  
  
"Crystal," replied John, "but what if the beam doesn't penetrate that enclosure?"  
  
"It will only be closed when the Novatron is released. Immediately after Crais is exposed, they will vent the remaining gas beneath the stage and withdraw the shield. It takes about ninety microts before the gas begins to take effect." She paused while a merchant selling felipe nectar passed. "If we can, we shoot before the gas is released. It is more likely though that we will not have a clear shot until afterward. Even once the Novatron is flushed, no one will want to risk being that close."  
  
"Agreed," was all John could say. While Bialar Crais sure as hell wasn't his favorite individual, he still had mixed feelings about shooting him. Tauvo's death had been an accident. This was different.  
  
The sporadic clusters of onlookers would definitely be to their advantage. He had modified the pulse rifles to shoot a silent narrow burst, powerful enough to pick off a Bellian yard rat from a metra away. Shoot Crais, drop the guns, blend in with the crowd; that was the plan. When all hezmana broke loose down below and the crowd surged out the exits, they'd be home free.  
  
Every black shirt on the field suddenly snapped to attention. From the main entryway beneath the arena the Peacekeeper hierarchy, walking two abreast, moved smartly across the field toward the podium.  
  
"This is unbelievable," Aeryn gasped. "Half of the Peacekeeper High Command is on that field."  
  
John snorted. "You think Crais will be impressed?"  
  
"I certainly am," she answered. "Those first two are Council members Shroam and K'Nael. They were against Crais from the very beginning. It does not surprise me to see them here, but some of the others."  
  
"Well, at least there's no sign of Scorpius."  
  
"Crais is of no use to him," she stated flatly. "The older man going up the stairs now is Daksil Moonj. He has been a member of High Command for close to a hundred cycles and was instrumental in Crais's promotion. This cannot be a good day for him. The short bald one next to him is Captain Graven of the command carrier Nexus."  
  
John fingered the trigger of the pulse rifle beneath his robe. "Damn, it's too bad Talyn couldn't have dropped a big one right square in their laps."  
  
As soon as the delegation on the platform was seated, all eyes focused back at the same set of double doors. Conversations on the field and in the grandstands died down. Flanked by four Peacekeepers, Crais began to slowly make his way toward the center stage. He walked with a slight limp, yet continued forward steadily of his own volition, head upright, eyes fixed straight ahead.  
  
"The two in front are Vanlor Kreppa, the base commander, and his second in command, Captain Torrack," Aeryn whispered. "The little man behind him is Captain Ezret Rahl. He is Crais on his absolute worst day."  
  
"Who in the hell is that blonde guy?" John asked in astonishment. "He's huge. I didn't know Sebaceans got that big."  
  
"I have never seen him before. And believe me, I would have remembered him."  
  
Crais slowed as he neared the first step of the platform, appearing to steady himself to negotiate the stairs. Captain Rahl immediately shoved him from behind, sending him to his knees. Crais caught himself with his good arm and tried to stand, but Rahl landed a boot between his shoulders, which sent him sprawled to the ground. Before Rahl could land another blow, the larger soldier stepped between them and hauled Crais to his feet. Once standing, Crais managed to make to make it to the top of the stairs without further incident. He approached the chamber and turned, placing his back to the pole. His cheeks flinched from the pain as they secured his arms behind him.  
  
Base Commander Kreppa stepped up to the podium. Captain Torrak remained standing stoically behind him. Rahl and the second soldier were positioned several feet apart in front of Crais.  
  
"Aeryn?" John whispered. "Are you clear?"  
  
"I have a shot, but it is not clean. Both Kreppa and Rahl are too close. What is your status?"  
  
"I've got nothing here. Budong boy is completely in the way. Should I try from a different position?"  
  
"No," Aeryn responded firmly. "They will move when the speeches are over. Stay with your cover."  
  
Commander Kreppa gazed slowly across the sea of stern young faces on the field below him and then made an equally deliberate visual sweep of the grandstands. "Comrades," he began, his voice steady and confident, "my father was a Peacekeeper and his father before him. They were honorable men . as are you. It is-"  
  
"John!" Aeryn gasped.  
  
"I see it," he answered.  
  
Peacekeepers began to filter in at every entrance. They double-timed it down the stairways until they lined the rails overlooking the field.  
  
"Are they on three too?" he asked quietly.  
  
"They are everywhere."  
  
"How close?"  
  
Aeryn waited while a squad strode past her position. "I think I can still get the shot off, but it will not be undetected."  
  
"Then you don't shoot," he said emphatically.  
  
"One of us has to. The execution is being transmitted to several other bases. Talyn is monitoring those broadcasts. Once Crais beings to suffer the effects of the Novatron, he will attack."  
  
John scanned the second level for a safer location to shoot from. There were still a few sections with only scattered Peacekeepers visible. "I'll move," he said.  
  
"No, stay where you are," she insisted. "I can get the shot off from here."  
  
"Aeryn, don't do it."  
  
"This is not just about Talyn anymore, John. He will attack with Stark still on board. It is likely that Moya will come after him. The others will all be killed or captured."  
  
John carefully brought the pulse rifle through the front of his robe and positioned it between his body and the pillar. "All right, Aeryn," he said, focusing his attention back on the stage. "Whoever gets the first clear shot takes it."  
  
Kreppa continued his speech to a significantly larger audience. "Honor is an important word in Peacekeeper history. Honor can never be taken, only given in weakness. Yet, as it can be lost, it can also be restored."  
  
"Today, we have gathered to purge our ranks of that which defiles us as Peacekeepers. We will reclaim the respect that was taken from us." He paused to look at Crais, who unflinchingly returned his gaze.  
  
"Let the sacrifice made here today restore that dignity and put an end to this madness."  
  
Commander Kreppa pivoted toward Council members Shroam and K'Nael, dipped his head in a curt nod, drew his pulse pistol and blasted Shroam backward off his chair. Captain Torrack's shot blew off K'Nael's left arm at the shoulder. At that same instant, the blonde-headed soldier curled a massive arm around Captain Rahl's head and effortlessly snapped his neck. He quickly positioned himself in front of Crais, shielding him from the sudden explosions of gunfire on and around the stage.  
  
When the flurry of shots ended, twenty or thirty lay dead, including Shroam and K'Nael. As many as two hundred others stood in stunned silence with their arms raised overhead. It appeared that Commander Kreppa and Daksil Moonj were giving all the orders from the podium. Under the direction of Captains Torrak and Graven, the prisoners were quickly disarmed and removed from the field.  
  
Scarlet armbands began to contrast against black shirts throughout the arena. As sporadic gunfire sounded outside the building, the soldiers in the grandstands, red armbands in place, raced for the exits.  
  
John watched as the big guy released Crais from his bindings and carefully escorted him off the platform and then from the field. "What the hell was that we just saw?" he asked.  
  
"I believe we have just witnessed a rebellion against the Peacekeeper High Command," Aeryn responded breathlessly. "It has been rumored for cycles, spoken of only in whispers. It would explain the deeply encrypted messages within the transmissions Moya picked up. John, do you have any idea what this could mean?"  
  
"Our boy Crais gets a reprieve?"  
  
"Among other things," she said, her words joyful, verging on laughter.  
  
Despite the rapidity and decisiveness of their victory, there was no celebrating taking place among the insurgents. Kreppa and Moonj, plus a dozen other officials, strode briskly toward the main entrance. John tucked the pulse rifle back beneath his robe and trotted up the stairs to the exit.  
  
"Meet me on the ramp," he said. "We'll contact D'Argo and Stark. Maybe they can tell us what the frell is going on."  
  
* * *  
  
Time alone would not be sufficient to heal Bialar Crais's wounds, yet the surgeon's table would have to wait, at least temporarily. A comfortable chair, a double shot of raslak and a warm blanket were the best Shainek could do. He was quite relieved to see Commander Kreppa and the other members of the Guard's governing body approaching in the hallway. Crais was driving him fahrbot with all his questions.  
  
Kreppa, Moonj and Captain Graven, along with seven other highly placed former Peacekeeper officials entered the room. They all sat with the exception of Daksil Moonj, who remained standing over Crais, his wrinkled narrow face framed with an unruly shock of silver hair.  
  
"I am embarrassed to say that I once supported you, Crais. I believed that you could become the portal through which other conscripts would finally gain access to command positions. Given time, I felt this alone might change the unsavory direction we found ourselves headed." He folded his arms and regarded him with a scowl. "You disappointed me. Instead of an example, you became the embodiment of every fetid belief the Peacekeeper organization represents. You were possibly the most self serving, arrogant individual I have ever had the distinct displeasure of having known."  
  
Crais's lips tightened into a hard line. "I did not choose this life, Council Member. I was forced into service-"  
  
"You reveled in it!" Moonj shouted, silencing Crais. "Tell me that you did not go too far. Well?"  
  
Crais lifted his eyes to meet the elder statesman's, his discomfort both physically and with his current situation readily apparent. "Yes, I have much to answer for," he said in a forced low voice. "But not to you. For the greater part of my career, I followed orders. Remember who gave them."  
  
Moonj chucked his head and gave a couple little grunts that resembled laughter. He shifted his eyes toward Kreppa, who after a microt responded with a barely discernable nod.  
  
"A weeken ago," Moonj continued, "Commander Kreppa and I would have let them execute you. You have Lieutenant Shainek to thank for changing our minds."  
  
"Lieutenant?" Crais asked, looking perplexed.  
  
Shainek subdued a smile. "I am newly commissioned as a Lieutenant in the Guard. We refer to ourselves as Guardians."  
  
"The Guardians presently number over eighty thousand," Moonj added. "In addition to Gammak V, we have the command carriers Nexus and Astrala, along with their Prowler squadrons, and 14 smaller vessels. We believe that in excess of two hundred thousand conscripts will join our cause the microt the opportunity presents itself."  
  
Crais pitched an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope you have a plan that will provide that opportunity in the most immediate future."  
  
Captain Graven stood and approached. "Your capture presented us with the means to capture or eliminate a substantial number of the worst element within High Command, those most dangerous to our success. However, that maneuver also forced us to strike before we were able to complete all preparations. This is where you come in."  
  
"I am no longer a soldier," Crais stated cautiously.  
  
Shainek rested on one knee to face him directly. "While you are no longer a Peacekeeper, you will always be a soldier. Before your defection, you were also arguably the finest tactician in the corps."  
  
"He is correct," Captain Graven said. "Other than Commander Kreppa, Captain Torrack and myself, the other officers within the Guard are all newly commissioned conscripts. Both Commander Kreppa and Captain Torrack are planetary command, not fleet. We are desperately in need of an experienced officer who can train and safeguard our fleet, and then, when the time is right, mount the offensive."  
  
"Surely you are not asking me to join this so called . Guard," Crais said with some amusement.  
  
"Who is better equipped?" Shainek asked. "You managed to elude the Peacekeepers' best efforts to capture you for more than a cycle."  
  
Crais chortled slightly. "Even if I were interested in such an arrangement, which I am not, you would never trust me."  
  
"Make no mistake, Crais," Moonj said sharply, "I still have reservations regarding your character. However, everyone in this room witnessed the vidchips of your conversations with Lieutenant Shainek this past weeken. Based on your apparent remorse for your actions as a Peacekeeper, plus your willingness to sacrifice yourself for the child, we are disposed to give you another chance. The fact that you admitted to loving anyone other than yourself also has merit."  
  
His cheeks burned at the thought of his privacy being displayed in such a manner. He cast Shainek a harsh look, but the Lieutenant had distanced himself to confer privately with a soldier who had just hurried in across the room. After a brief conversation, Shainek accompanied the soldier into the hallway, closing the door behind them.  
  
"One other thing, Crais," Moonj said, "you will not find your new first officer's neck quite so easy to break. I believe Lieutenant Shainek has already demonstrated his physical superiority over you."  
  
A glare from Crais brought a tart grin to the elder official's face.  
  
Commander Kreppa finally spoke. "I understand that this is all very unexpected. Two arns ago you faced a most unpleasant death, and I must admit, you did so with a great deal of courage. While your injuries are not life threatening, I am certain you are most uncomfortable. Once the doctors have treated you and you have had sufficient time to rest, we will discuss this further. In the meantime, we have a great deal to do."  
  
The men all stood and began to file out the door. Captain Graven waited until the room had cleared to speak. "I am not a conscript, but I too have someone special in my life. I am tired of living with the fear that we will be found out. And I want to know my children." He shifted uncomfortably and glanced out the doorway. "If fortune is not with us, we will last no more than half a cycle, possibly less."  
  
Crais nodded his understanding.  
  
"A tech will be here shortly to transport you to the med lab," Graven said, then turned and abruptly left.  
  
Crais wondered which side he would be on now if John Crichton had not stumbled through that wormhole three cycles earlier, if Tauvo had not died. If he had not been forced to witness his life in the Aurora Chair, would he have changed? Or would he be rushing here now to crush the life out of these so-called Guardians? It also occurred to him that with the Peacekeepers pitted in battle against the Guardians, capturing Bialar Crais might no longer be a priority. If he could make his way back to Thasia .  
  
He did not turn around when he heard footsteps behind him. He was relieved to see it was Shainek. The Lieutenant silently walked past him and leaned back against the far wall, his arms folded across his chest. He looked insufferably pleased with himself.  
  
"You could have-"  
  
The sight of John Crichton and Aeryn Sun suddenly alongside the chair rendered him speechless.  
  
"Hey Bialar," John said with a huge smile. "How's it going?"  
  
A bewildered Crais stared at Aeryn for several microts before finally managing to say, "You were killed."  
  
Aeryn found it hard to meet his gaze. They had not encountered Crais since her death on the Diagnosan's planet. He knew nothing of her resurrection or of Zhaan's sacrifice. "It is a long story, better suited for another time. I am obviously quite alive."  
  
He nodded pensively. "The two of you are a part of this?" he asked.  
  
"No," Aeryn said evenly. "The Guardians sent out beacons offering amnesty to any deserters or individuals wanted by the Peacekeepers without just cause. We decided to accept."  
  
Crais nodded again, keeping a suspicious eye on the still smiling Crichton.  
  
"So Peacekeeper, I see you got the dren beat out of you again."  
  
The tone of her voice stabbed him. He started to form a word, but stopped before the sound could reach his lips. He wanted to face her, but was too afraid of what he would find in her eyes. A microt later he felt a tug at his hair binding. Gentle fingers began to work their way down through his hair and along his back. Abella bent down, her face pressed alongside his and wrapped her arms around his neck. He turned to her and found her lips, tasting her tears. He involuntarily breathed her name as he pulled her around to him with his good arm.  
  
Suddenly aware of the small audience, Crais relaxed his grip on her and cleared his throat uneasily. She continued to cradle his face in her hands, planting light kisses wherever she could without hurting him.  
  
"How did you get here?" he asked.  
  
She considered not telling him, but decided against it. There were enough surprises for later. "Talyn brought us."  
  
The panic in his eyes was expected. "It is all right, Bialar. He has taken good care of Vizbeth and me. It was his idea to come here."  
  
He twisted as far as he could to glance around him. "Where is Vizbeth?"  
  
"She is with Stark aboard Talyn." She tried to reassure him with a smile. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the small round metal disk and offered it to him. "He wants you to consider taking this back."  
  
Crais's brow heightened as he regarded the transponder. He sucked in a breath then shook his head briskly. "I am not currently disposed to make that decision. I assure you I have no desire to take another beating from anyone just now, especially an unreasonable Leviathan."  
  
"Talyn is sorry that he hurt you. He promises it will never happen again."  
  
He gave one corner of his mouth a cynical tug.  
  
Abella carefully raised his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Bialar, you of all people know what it is to regret the choices you have made. You know what it feels like to ask for forgiveness and have none given."  
  
Her words were not lost on him. Crais nodded reluctantly. "I assure you, I will consider it at the proper time. Perhaps after we have had ample opportunity to discuss the situation.  
  
"Yes, my love," she said softly, but with a hint of sarcasm, "there are several things we need to discuss."  
  
It was Lieutenant Shainek who again came to his rescue. He took a step forward and cleared his throat. "We have a team of physicians on standby. It is past time we treated those wounds. You can speak again tomorrow, after he has rested."  
  
Abella gave the tall blonde lieutenant a curious look. "You?"  
  
He squared his shoulders and dipped his head. "Lieutenant Jeron Shainek, at your service, Madam."  
  
Crais took Abella's hand and brought it to his face, brushing it with his lips and kissing her palm. "Please, do not concern yourself. I am quite safe here with Lieutenant Shainek." He looked next to Aeryn and John, somewhat hesitant.  
  
"We will take care of them," Aeryn volunteered, without making him ask.  
  
"That's right," John said, still grinning much too broadly for Crais's comfort "You just get your strength back. We'll take care of everything." He patted his shoulder on the way past.  
  
Abella waited until John and Aeryn were in the outer hall then kissed him as deeply as she dared. She smoothed his hair away from his face and rested her forehead against his for a microt, then stepped back. She held him in her eyes, finally saying softly, "I will return tomorrow with Vizbeth."  
  
As she left the room, Shainek clasped his hands behind his back and waited for the inevitable. Crais's eyes narrowed. "You could have told me!"  
  
"No, I could not."  
  
"So, you believed I would betray your plan to save myself? Is that it? Is that what you thought?"  
  
"It was a burden of silence that was not necessary to place upon you. I had no intention of ever allowing the Novatron to be released." Shainek placed a hand beneath Crais's elbow to help him stand, but the other man batted it away. "The medical bay is a short distance. I can have a stretcher brought in if you-"  
  
"I can walk," Crais snapped. He made it to his feet with difficulty. "Eighty thousand men? What do you expect to do against a million Peacekeepers?"  
  
"Three hundred thousand of those men were conscripted. Given the opportunity, they will join us. If we are able to hold out until ."  
  
"What about the base at Taurset?" Crais asked sharply. "Is it secure?"  
  
"No. So far, we only hold Ga-"  
  
"If they reinforce Taurset before you can take it, you are already finished. If you have the ability to attack, do so immediately."  
  
"Commander Kreppa will probably want to evaluate our-"  
  
"Once they send in reinforcements you are all as good as dead. Do you have a presence there now?"  
  
"Well yes, of course."  
  
"You will not get a second chance."  
  
"Your experience will make a significant difference to the Guardians. The gunship, Talyn, would also be a worthy addition." Shainek said.  
  
Crais came to an abrupt halt and turned to face him. "I said nothing of joining this campaign. I am telling you this only as a favor to you. As I said earlier, apparently for everyone's entertainment, I am in your debt."  
  
Shainek folded his arms and nodded, looking Crais over closely with a thin smile. "Yes, I forgot," his voice mocked. "You are not a soldier; you are just a farm boy, like me. Are you planning to stay at home and raise bezoar? Make babies with your woman?"  
  
"If I choose," he replied angrily, then resumed limping along the corridor. He paused at a view port to survey the landing pad below. Two squadrons of Prowlers lined the tarmac, wingtip to wingtip. He scowled and made a growling noise. "What are those ships doing there?"  
  
Shainek sighed and said wearily, "Waiting for orders, I would presume."  
  
"This is a war zone!" Crais ranted, wagging his head in disbelief. "It is quite possible there are loyal Peacekeepers still operational on Gammak V. If a saboteur were to blow up one of those ships, it would incapacitate another on each side as well. Move them."  
  
"Yes, I see your-"  
  
"Do it now!" Crais snapped.  
  
"Yes sir!" Shainek straightened, restraining a smile. He pivoted on his heel and with a grandiose sweep of his arm directed Crais to continue the length of the hallway.  
  
"I have a feeling that Crichton knows something," he grumbled next. "Do you know what it is?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
"Find out."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Shainek observed Crais from the corner of his eye, watching for his unspoken response. "I thought it went extremely well today. Would you agree?"  
  
He grimaced. "I have only one regret."  
  
"Really? And that is?"  
  
"You were blocking my view. I was not able to see the look on that idiot Rahl's face."  
  
Lieutenant Shainek's laughter boomed, drawing curious stares from a passing squad of Guardians. He noticed now that Crais was completely spent, with only his stubborn pride keeping him on his feet. He rested one hand behind Crais's back and supported his uninjured arm with the other, this time without any protest. Together, they walked slowly to the end of the corridor and turned into the medical bay.  
  
  
  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
